My Librarian Dad Cardinally Changed Our Lives after His Death

Hi, I’m Jade, a 36-year-old nurse living in Oakhaven, Arkansas. The past year has been the hardest for my family. The economic state of the world hit us hard, and our bills were multiplying while our income stagnated.

I had long hours at the local hospital, but it felt like we were barely keeping our heads above water.

My husband, Ethan, is a builder, but the construction industry hasn’t been doing well. He was forced to take on odd jobs just to make ends meet.

I know everyone is having a hard time, and I shouldn’t complain, but it has been exhausting. A constant knot of worry would often make me nauseous and threaten to drive me mad.

What’s more, I’ve even had to put off paying for necessities until we got late notices. My only solace was that our girls, Sandra and Gwen, were still young and oblivious to our struggle.

One night, while Ethan and I sat at the kitchen table overlooking all our late payment notices, they were too busy building a pillow fort in the living room. We had to keep going for them.

During these hard times, I often thought back to my childhood. It was a simpler time with laughter and carefree days in our cozy, book-filled house.

I remember spending hours with my dad in his study, surrounded by towering bookshelves and the comforting scent of old paper. As a librarian, my dad was always buried in words, but every weekend when I was young, we made bracelets together.

It was our thing until I moved away for college. It was our little secret, too, and I’d hoped he would have a chance to do it with our girls, but he passed away from cancer before he could even meet them.

The sharp ring of the phone interrupted my nostalgic thoughts. It was my mom, calling to remind me about the upcoming family gathering to commemorate the tenth anniversary of Dad’s death.

I hesitated for a moment, as I truly wasn’t sure if I wanted to go spend time with family. What would I tell everyone? That we were fine? We weren’t. Still, I knew I couldn’t miss it.

A few days later, Ethan and I organized ourselves, booked some time off, and packed up the car to head to my childhood home in Edmond, Oklahoma.

My mom, Eleanor, a retired English teacher, greeted us with a huge hug. When we walked inside, I saw that my brothers were already there in the living room.

Travis, the oldest, was a successful businessman and has been seemingly unaffected by the economic downturn. As soon as everyone got situated, and we started chatting, he started to boast about his latest investments and lavish vacations.

“Just closed a deal on a new condo in Maui,” he announced, flashing a smug grin. “I’m thinking of renting it out, maybe make a little extra cash.”

I tried not to show how his words made me and my husband feel.

Meanwhile, Adam, the middle child, was a teacher like Mom, kind and empathetic. I could also see that things were hard for him. Perhaps not as dire as us, though, because he was mostly worried about his students, not himself.

“Things are tough at the school,” he admitted, his voice low. “Budget cuts, larger classes… it’s getting harder to make a difference.”

But luckily, Mom called us to the dining room before they could ask too many questions about my family. Once we sat to eat, we focused on remembering Dad.

We began sharing stories of him. Travis recounted how Dad had taught him to ride a bike, exaggerating a little as usual.

“I was a natural, of course,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “Took to it like a fish to water. Dad always said I had a knack for anything with wheels.”

I smiled indulgently, as Adam took a turn. He reminisced about the surprisingly effective relationship advice Dad had given him during his worst breakup in college.

“Dad always had a way of seeing things clearly,” he mused with a small smile playing on his lips. “He told me to focus on the good times, to cherish the memories, and to let go of the anger. It was simple advice, but it helped me heal.”

When it was my turn, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what to say. There was so much. But I remembered the memories that had been keeping me sane these days and picked that.

“My Dad never told me he loved me,” I began, smiling despite how my words would sound. Everyone looked at me in confusion, yet I continued, “But I knew he did because we always made bracelets together. That’s my most cherished memory of him.”

“Dad made bracelets with you?” Adam asked as the corners of his mouth went up.

Travis was shaking his head like he thought it was ridiculous, but before I could wipe the smirk off his face, Mom spoke.

“Where are the bracelets?” she demanded. Her face had gone ashen, and I wasn’t sure why.

“I-I don’t know… the basement?” I stammered while trying to remember.

She abruptly stood up from the table, muttering about making a phone call, while my siblings and I looked at one another in confusion. We heard her talking to someone from the kitchen phone but couldn’t make out the words.

She came back less than a minute later with a pale face. “We need to find those bracelets, Jade. Now!”

***

An hour later, all of us were in the basement, covered in dirt and sneezing every few minutes. We went through boxes and old trunks, and Mom only got more desperate to find the bracelets.

I wasn’t sure they would be there, but finally, in a forgotten bag tucked away in a corner, I found them. Looking at them, I remembered the peculiar gemstones that Dad had pointed out to me. They were shiny even after so many years.

“Here, Mom,” I said happily. “They’re still here.”

She took them, clutching them in her hands as if they were a lifeline. Little did I know, they would be.

“We need to take these to Mr. Harrington,” she said excitedly.

***

The next day, we were at Mr. Harrington’s store, a jewelry shop tucked away on a quiet side street. It was always filled with the glint of gold and the sparkle of diamonds. No one in town had a better eye for precious things.

I didn’t think he would find my dad’s bracelets terribly exciting, but he examined them thoroughly with his tools. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked up with wide eyes.

“These are quite remarkable specimens,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Uncut, for sure. Where did you come by them? They appear to be… quite valuable.”

My mouth popped open while my mom clapped her hands together. I had no idea, but she looked like she did.

“Mom,” I began.

“I’ll tell you at home,” she interrupted me and asked Mr. Harrington to give us an estimate, so we could know how much these would sell for.

The amount… was eye-watering.

***

That afternoon, back at her home and over a steaming cup of tea, my mom revealed the truth.

She explained that my father had discovered these gemstones during an archaeological dig in his youth, long before he became a librarian. Dad had incorporated them into the bracelets as a “safety net” for the family, except he never told anyone.

It wasn’t until I mentioned our secret weekend hobby that it finally clicked for Mom.

“You see, your grandma, James’ mom, asked me before she died if I had given you kids the jewels yet. I thought she meant my own, so I just told her yes,” she explained. “But while you talked about making bracelets with your dad, I remembered him telling me the story of his archeology digs. I had completely forgotten.”

“And who did you call yesterday?”

“Your aunt, Clara,” she replied. Clara was my father’s sister. “She was the only other person who knew about them. I just had to confirm, and she was shocked that we didn’t have them safe at the bank or something. She told me to find and get them appraised immediately.”

I was speechless. “Well, we have them, and we know what they’re worth. We can find a way to keep them safe from now on,” I nodded.

But Mom grabbed my hand. “No, Jade. We have to sell them,” she said, and her eyes were tender. “I know you are struggling. I see the new wrinkles in your eyes and more gray in your hair. I’ve been trying to find a way to help, but times are hard for me, too.”

I touched my head in shame at those words.

“I know you didn’t want to say anything, but I’m your mother. I know when you’re in pain,” Mom continued, tightening her hold. “We need to sell them, so you and your husband can breathe for a while. Focus on finding better jobs, paying the bills, or any other way to make your lives better.”

I shook my head. “I can’t…”

“We’ll give your brothers a fair share, of course,” she added, “and they can do what they want. But I think you and your husband need them the most. This is what your father would want.”

“Are you sure?” I asked just because I needed the confirmation.

She simply hugged me.

***

The bracelets changed our lives, and we didn’t even have to sell all the ones we received after dividing them between me and my brothers.

Ethan and I paid off our debts. We even made necessary home repairs, and we invested in a college fund for Sandra and Gwen. Once the weight was off our shoulders, things fell into place.

A year later, Ethan started his own business, which picked up exponentially, and I got a huge promotion sometime after.

And now, when I remember my secret hobby with Dad, I remember that our good fortune came from his thoughtful thinking and also, my mom’s worry. What a beautiful thing it is to have this kind of love in your life!

Here’s another story: My greedy brother demanded the family home I’d inherited from our late dad. But less than 24 hours later, he called me in tears and begged me to take it back. Something behind those walls had shaken him to his core, and I knew exactly what it was.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.