Just Before Anesthesia, My Mom Begged Me to Burn Her Notebook—The Secret She Hid

My Mom Suddenly Ended Up In The Hospital, But Just Before Anesthesia, She Grabbed My Hand And Begged Me To Burn Her Notebook

Abi learns that her mother need surgery after she is brought to the hospital with severe pain and a high temperature. Abi is prepared to act like the obliging daughter, but then her mother asks her to go home and burn a notepad. Why is the notebook so important, and what is in it?

We both thought the worst when my mom had a fever and a strong stomachache, but we weren’t ready to visit the hospital just yet.

“Let me just take some painkillers and rest, and if it doesn’t get any better, then we’ll go to the hospital,” my mother replied, tipping back on the couch. “Abigail,” Alright?”

I gave a nod. My mother detested hospitals, so I didn’t want to press the issue. We were therefore going to avoid it until it was absolutely necessary. However, when Mom’s temperature continued to worsen in the middle of the night, things took a turn.

“It’s time, Abi,” she said, anguishedly gripping her pajamas.

“It’s appendicitis,” the physician verified. “And Diana, I have no idea how you have been managing. We have to get you into surgery right away. I’ll arrange for the nurses to get you situated and hooked up to an IV.”

“When will Mom have surgery?” I questioned tremblingly.

“Tomorrow morning,” the physician stated. “We cannot put it off any longer.”

I spent the night with my mother, falling asleep in the armchair as she got ready for bed. I could see she was anxious when the nurses got her ready for surgery the following morning.

I took her hand and said, “Mom, it’s going to be okay.” “This is what they always do. It is a standard process.”

She gave a nod, but fear was visible in her wide eyes. Then, remarkably strong for someone in so much pain, she grabbed my hand before they carried her to the surgery room.

“Abi, leave this place. She trembled in voice as she said, “Don’t wait for me. “Go home and destroy my notes, please, dear. The dark one next to my bed is it. I need that book gone, Abi, if something were to happen to me.”

Her words confused me, and I blinked.

“Mom, what are you discussing? You will be alright. That is merely appendicitis.”

“I acknowledge that,” she moaned. “But Abigail, you must make a promise to me. Set it ablaze. Don’t look through or read it. However, burn it. I’ll explain once I’ve made it through. So for now, follow my instructions.”

I gave her a tight squeeze and whispered, “Okay, Mom.” I did not want her to think about that journal throughout her surgery. “I promise.”

My mother released my hand and let the orderlies cart her away, a look of relief spreading across her face.

I paused for a time, attempting to take in the events that had just transpired. Set fire to her notepad? Why was she so determined to destroy it? What might possibly be inside?

I was aware that my mother would require prolonged surgery and that she would need time to recuperate. I drove home when my curiosity was unsatisfied.

“What is so important about this notebook?” As I drove, I asked myself this. “What secrets is she hiding?”

The notebook was exactly where she said it would be, on her nightstand, next to a container of fine liners and charcoal pencils. It was a simple black book with no markings, bound in leather.

“Do I keep my promise and not open you?” I enquired of the book. “Or do I find out what secrets you have?”

Then I flicked it open before I could stop myself.

My breath was taken away by the first page. It was a drawing of my father, gazing at me with eyes so alive that I could almost feel that he was in the same room as me. As I flipped the page, there he was once more, grinning and casually draping his arm across the back of a chair. One more page, one more picture. His face in all lights and expressions.

I whispered, “What on earth…”

I continued to turn the pages at an increasing pace until my hands began to shake.

In my mother’s tiny handwriting, there was just one statement on the final page:

Adam, you were loved. even if you didn’t reciprocate my affection.

I exclaimed, “Wow,” as I sank to the ground.

My mother had filled the notebook to the brim with all the details of the man she had loved and lost. And now that she was going to have surgery, she was afraid he would discover how much she had loved him.

I said, “Goodness, Mom.”

I was unable to complete it. I was unable to destroy the notebook and all the love and suffering she had painstakingly added to each picture. Rather, I brought it to the hospital with me.

There was almost no chance that anybody else would visit the hospital. My dad hasn’t talked to us much since the divorce, and my grandparents were too far away.

Mom was still recovering when I got there; she was drowsy and pale but still very much alive. I sat with her, gently holding her hand while she gradually awoke from the sedative.

She managed, “Did you get to the book, Abi?”

“Yes,” I said. “But I couldn’t burn it.”

For a moment, I thought she was upset with me as tears filled her eyes. Then, though, she offered me a meek grin and gave me a feeble squeeze of my hand.

Whispering, “It’s okay, darling,” she said. “If something were to happen to me, I just didn’t want your father to find it. I wanted him to believe that I wasn’t…”

“Irrational? Inane? Depressing?” I completed the task for her. “You’re not, Mama. There’s nothing wrong with your love for him. When he decided to have that affair, he abandoned both of us.”

With a sigh, she closed her eyes once again and fell asleep.

Later that day, when my mother woke up, I apologized for going through the book.

Her words, “It’s okay, sweetheart,” as she reached for a drink of water. “You were also deeply injured by him, therefore I didn’t want you to know. I wanted no one to find out. It was just how I dealt with things.”

I gave a nod. I searched for the perfect words, but nothing came to me.

“Those drawings are incredible, Mom,” I replied. “There was something extra about the way you caught him. It seems as though he was standing in front of me.”

She winced in agony and felt a tiny smile tug at her lips.

“Abi, I worked on those for hours,” she remarked. “I couldn’t stop thinking about him after he went. However, I’ve read about documenting suffering and loss. I discovered I could sketch it, but I couldn’t write it. I doubt that the agony has subsided. However, it has had an impact.”

I told them, “It’s okay to hurt.” “Mom, it’s acceptable to experience all of your emotions. You’ve loved him since, like, when? How about eighteen? That’s nothing to be embarrassed of.

She admitted, “I was terrified that he would find the notepad if I didn’t survive the surgery. And even after everything, I couldn’t face the idea of him knowing how much I still cared.”

I assured Mom, ‘He’s not going to find out about it. You can decide what to do with the notepad once you leave. However, for the time being? We simply keep it a secret from one another.”

She nodded and grinned.

She said, “Sweetheart, thank you.” You have no idea how much that means to me. Could you just grab me some jello now? This metallic anesthetic taste needs to be removed from my mouth.”

“Coming right up,” I murmured.

I dropped my mom off in the hospital bed, propped up against the pillows. Though I knew mother suffered when my father filed for divorce, I didn’t realize how much it hurt her.

Now that it’s in the open, we can at least discuss it.

How would you have responded in that situation?