{"id":615,"date":"2025-12-13T16:46:04","date_gmt":"2025-12-13T16:46:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/?p=615"},"modified":"2025-12-13T16:46:08","modified_gmt":"2025-12-13T16:46:08","slug":"the-rule-of-three","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/?p=615","title":{"rendered":"The Rule Of Three"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div class=\"wp-block-cover aligncenter is-light mycontentblock has-medium-font-size wp-duotone-333-rgba2552552550-1\" style=\"margin-top:0;margin-bottom:var(--wp--preset--spacing--50);padding-top:0;padding-bottom:0;min-height:76px;aspect-ratio:unset;\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"186\" class=\"wp-block-cover__image-background wp-image-198 size-large\" alt=\"\" src=\"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1024x186.png\" style=\"object-position:50% 50%\" data-object-fit=\"cover\" data-object-position=\"50% 50%\" srcset=\"https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1024x186.png 1024w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-300x54.png 300w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-768x139.png 768w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1536x279.png 1536w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-2048x372.png 2048w, https:\/\/vibepress.us\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Screenshot-2025-12-04-at-2.47.25-PM-1-1320x239.png 1320w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><span aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-cover__background has-background-dim-0 has-background-dim\"><\/span><div class=\"wp-block-cover__inner-container is-layout-constrained wp-container-core-cover-is-layout-4d396166 wp-block-cover-is-layout-constrained\">\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center my-cover-title has-ast-global-color-8-color has-ast-global-color-4-background-color has-text-color has-background has-link-color has-small-font-size wp-elements-11e41b1c2962e5268147a10d4704bbcc\"><strong>The Rule Of Three<br><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-bb76a0916ee3b688585793c157ca507d\">My mom had an obsession with the number three. We put up three alarms in the morning, said three thank-yous before hanging up the phone, gave three hugs before trips. <strong>I decided to give my mom two kisses before school, but she grabbed my arm and whispered,<\/strong> \u201cOne more, baby. Just one more, or I\u2019ll worry all day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\">\n    atOptions = {\n        'key' : '9e49f4ce267f7bab92bbdb38b733742b',\n        'format' : 'iframe',\n        'height' : 90,\n        'width' : 728,\n        'params' : {}\n    };\n<\/script>\n<script type=\"text\/javascript\" src=\"\/\/brillianceremisswhistled.com\/9e49f4ce267f7bab92bbdb38b733742b\/invoke.js\"><\/script>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-04abc13af376eb20d6053e2f6d8f24a5\">I was only seven when I first noticed how seriously she took it. At first, I thought it was just one of her quirks\u2014like how she never wore socks that didn\u2019t match her shirt or how she always stirred her coffee counterclockwise. But the number three?<strong> That wasn\u2019t just a habit. It was sacred.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ff0f10f4b0781c6d625c72fd96c1d89b\">As I got older, I teased her about it. Once, I tried to hang up after only two thank-yous. The silence on the other end hit me like a bucket of cold water. I could feel her panic through the phone. I quickly added the third one, and she exhaled, muttering, \u201cOkay, baby. All good now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e1b3a778b6aba03ee1e3b9ae3a01d9cc\">At thirteen, I started getting annoyed. I didn\u2019t want three hugs in front of my friends or to say \u201cthank you\u201d three times like some robot. I wanted to be normal. But no matter how hard I pushed back, she insisted. \u201cIt keeps us safe,\u201d she said.<strong> \u201cI don\u2019t expect you to understand. Just\u2026 trust me.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-4f51c0b5501fce5899a32215bc12cfdd\">I stopped asking why.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b454d3124417221bcf645672ddfeac6b\">Then one night, curiosity got the better of me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-1210c707e0c2779ccd45ffc93427ecf6\">We were watching TV, just the two of us. I was about to go to bed when I turned and asked, \u201cMom, where\u2019d the number three thing come from? Seriously.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ae70077e76b85e4321d9c65d8da65d96\">She paused the show and stared at the screen, not at me. Her voice dropped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-3832ff754adcc6e15ed185321ea0a79f\">\u201cWhen I was a little girl,\u201d she said, <strong>\u201cmy brother Danny used to walk me to school.<\/strong> Every day, we had this thing where we\u2019d give each other three pats on the shoulder before he left me at the gate. One morning, we were late, and he only gave me two. I laughed it off. That afternoon, he got hit by a car riding his bike home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b266d60e03270a3c3cd0482aca9f50e2\">I didn\u2019t know what to say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-5ff658a18a6d9d7c5c87b9df20982205\">She cleared her throat. \u201cSince then, I\u2019ve never skipped the third. It\u2019s stupid, I know. But if it gives me peace, I\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-6935b02b0d8b8d0cb3156534e91f4b6b\">It didn\u2019t sound stupid anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-2a342bff06e43d1e948fdd985370e943\">By the time I turned eighteen, I had internalized the habit. It wasn\u2019t just about my mom. It became part of me. Three knocks before entering a room. Three sips of coffee before talking in the morning. Three deep breaths before making a tough decision. Sometimes I\u2019d forget, and my chest would tighten until I went back and completed the third.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-9db827519e0a04ef80ee9502a06bbe25\">When I left for college, my mom cried during our goodbye. She hugged me three times, kissed my forehead three times, and said, \u201cCall me every day. At 3:00 if you can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-493b625a690f9d73a82055c028cb5ca9\">I tried my best to keep that promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-1a3ba9e9bf96bd4f6b787211b0e072c0\">College was rough. Not the classes\u2014I could handle the classes. It was the people. The loneliness. The freedom I thought I wanted. The silence in my dorm room that didn\u2019t feel anything like home. I started calling Mom more than once a day. I didn\u2019t admit it, but it kept me grounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-dd6978a5a2f7886f82a72db8e20f84ce\">One day, I forgot to call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-d9a73f7efbe1303f4f0617799dcfde4c\">It was midterms. I had three papers due, hadn\u2019t slept in almost two days, and drank way too much coffee. At 3:00, I was in a study group. At 3:05, I remembered. At 3:07, I told myself I\u2019d call after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b8adca2a29b85d32dd6e0b81ef917e1a\">I never did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-c732366e5e9e042ee57ad0a957459b64\">That night, around 11:00, I checked my phone and saw I had seven missed calls from her. I panicked. I called back immediately, but it went to voicemail. My chest clenched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e5350e066034b41aa45e0d2c70630cfd\">The next morning, I got a text: \u201cI\u2019m okay now. I just got worried. Call me when you wake up. I love you. x3\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-7c149a1d35c99584879f429fc969bb27\">I called. She answered in tears. \u201cDon\u2019t do that to me again,\u201d she said. \u201cI thought something happened.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-50df912b459f1375da0312c706faafe7\">I promised I wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-24a0ff6bcc00a6617cdcb165b492b240\">Years passed. I graduated. Got a job. Moved back home for a bit, then out again when I saved up. My mom aged in small, quiet ways. More silver in her hair. A deeper line between her brows. But her habits never changed. Still three alarms. Still three thank-yous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-0ad51f85ec8e86cf20c6f8f9156e996a\">One day, I called her at 3:00 like usual. No answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-33f1702de9c42d78322a5b70df4c8cd9\">I waited. Called again at 3:10. Nothing. I texted. Waited again. The longer the silence stretched, the louder the alarms in my head grew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-46bc843e475995f8af7b5044146d4a7b\">By 4:00, I was driving over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-f74087b43b7bf721b8c4c583abae7cc4\">Her car was in the driveway. I banged on the door. No answer. I used the spare key. She was on the kitchen floor, breathing but pale, clutching her side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-cb40e8482ebbda5e33abbd64c598b66b\">\u201cMom!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-60052a186da19b136cd290bcf6c1610e\">The paramedics said it was a minor heart attack. She\u2019d be okay, but it was a warning. A wake-up call. She needed to slow down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ca04b2ba797a0e0f37ec44e370fa7ca5\">She smiled from the hospital bed, \u201cI guess I used up one of my threes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-307a48f53bd633ad007e5fe0cf096c00\">I laughed through my tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-abb7a273859446a0779d25e846a50b98\">After that, I visited every Sunday. No excuses. We had a routine. Coffee, stories, sometimes just sitting on the porch, watching the neighborhood kids ride their bikes. She never asked for anything big. Just my presence. And my three hugs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-195f10b4bb5f586839422a1a696684ea\">Then came the day that changed everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-9c686008530385c1e483ae92c0e3a73f\">It was a Thursday. I had taken a half-day from work to surprise her with lunch. Her favorite\u2014grilled cheese with tomato soup from the diner down the block.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-5eda1ba7e3c765fd038a31ab8dd3a585\">I knocked three times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-386de38e5add8277f0477ae841434c01\">No answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-df7a0a16bc53a1754e0e01a556513d81\">I used the key again. This time, the house was too quiet. I called her name, once, then again. My voice cracked on the third. I found her in the bedroom, lying on the bed, eyes closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e24422f51097d045a47ecbc42dca65de\">She looked peaceful. Almost like she was asleep. But I knew.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-5ba1d78fce8fe090e9a912d046233915\">She was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-503a636dd27538716fe5d245ee0c6281\">There was no note. No warning. The doctors said it was another heart attack. This one too sudden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ab9ce4daeebd86ef47e4c324f4ae338f\">The grief swallowed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-ed0ced0717001e614fcf40b1d07c733b\">For weeks, I couldn\u2019t breathe without hearing her voice. I couldn\u2019t sleep without dreaming of the way she\u2019d tug my arm when I forgot the third kiss. I saw the number three everywhere. It mocked me. It comforted me. It haunted me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-717b3acba45f71fdb262a1573812a4e1\">After the funeral, I started going through her things. In one of her old boxes, I found journals\u2014dozens of them, each filled with neat, looping handwriting. Every entry dated. Every page ending with a triple underline or three dots. A rhythm. Her way of holding the world together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-347e1e09560e64fa3af3cff2dc7ac96c\">Then I found a letter. Addressed to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-28858fa78378c0f6c235dfed1a1cae6c\">If you\u2019re reading this, then I\u2019m not around anymore. First off, I\u2019m okay. Don\u2019t worry about me. Second\u2014yes, I know you forgot to call that one day during midterms. I was never mad. I just needed to hear your voice. Even silence was too loud when it came to you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-1610b695936db4153ea71463d4e32f96\">I know the \u201cthree\u201d thing seems silly. But it gave me control when life felt chaotic. It helped me survive losing Danny. Then losing your dad. And for a while, it helped me survive the fear of losing you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-380addb2719351401a561bdc6d7d79f6\">Now, I want you to live free. Don\u2019t be chained by the same patterns. Keep what brings you peace\u2014but let go of what brings you fear. That\u2019s my last three for you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-27d7d6a36d55bcce231d31f71e30e395\">Love you always,<br>x3<br>Mom<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-86865e7c7c3093a500aaa4ba045494a4\">I sat there, holding the letter to my chest, sobbing like a child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-de04623483e314b3f062c65a6b3923ec\">In the weeks that followed, I tried to let go of the rules. I slipped up sometimes. Still knocked three times. Still whispered three \u201cI love yous\u201d into the wind. But slowly, I stopped doing it from fear. I started doing it out of memory. Out of love.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-6fe238cf85624b0b69b4973c449a3b2f\">One day, I was walking through the grocery store when I saw an old woman drop her wallet. I picked it up, ran after her, and returned it. She looked stunned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-926f36bc9dbc11d4a1097fce7be704ba\">\u201cPeople don\u2019t do that much anymore,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-7443cbb47e9c1e94a407f8e7a06c5b36\">I smiled. \u201cMy mom raised me right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-82a7e7bda7cb6089d4b1e20974b3e701\">Later that night, I journaled about it. I ended the entry with three dots. I didn\u2019t even mean to. It just\u2026 felt right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-d713858152fda8c70b850d6f08c04585\">A few years passed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-c9de6bcbef064d55da0907ab59b2c78e\">I got married. We had a daughter. We named her Daniella\u2014after Danny, the uncle I never met.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-b7aff06898bb596d59104e8c94430501\">My wife noticed the way I gave three kisses at bedtime, how I brushed Daniella\u2019s hair in three slow strokes before school. She smiled. \u201cThat from your mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-643fa11608696400e6ad50be0caba17c\">I nodded. \u201cYeah. It\u2019s our thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-2b7d884d53dcdcf0864417a4e6f8835e\">One evening, Daniella looked up at me, her eyes curious. \u201cWhy three, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-25b80b3dd9a0e7336bfd6e417038e711\">I thought for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-04cde0d1bdd51f8b5a34487c967dc95b\">\u201cBecause three means we mean it. The first is for now. The second is for later. The third is just in case.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-7f2818925c755a7da5d88b519cd73d81\">She grinned and gave me three little pecks on the cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-3bdee6be89be72b7aa3675e8cf8d888c\">When she turned seven, she started giving me four.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-f271f21161be19a9007a9b2918f1d877\">\u201cWhy four?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e3370becfabfa1473175519a716ee987\">\u201cBecause three is for you,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd the fourth is from Mommy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-e1bb2fa84cffdc071c7753e0844b8032\">I teared up. Not because of the number. But because of what it meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-a963fc4c0c4a853ad36b463fb1448ec4\">We carry people in little ways. In habits. In words. In pauses between sentences. In things that don\u2019t make sense to anyone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-969492a23fb5db7c0186b55592f1f193\">I don\u2019t obsess over the number three anymore. But I respect it. Because for my mom, it was more than a number. It was a lifeline. A ritual. A promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-4554fbf6ab387a6da82444f2f308b45c\">And in some ways, it saved me too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-9d237298d9e08d7c6c03862675db20db\">Here\u2019s what I learned: We all hold on to something. A belief. A ritual. A pattern. Sometimes it\u2019s born from pain. Sometimes from love. But what matters isn\u2019t the habit itself\u2014it\u2019s why we keep it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-8dbd2596865ed57bc4f7d8a557c3e3bc\">If it brings you peace, keep it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-a3f1e04e1589fd462aef6d3f73ec81a1\">If it holds you back, let it go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-d013e725d3942aca2dbd15399c6d731f\">And if someone gives you a kiss, a hug, or a thank-you\u2014take the time to return it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-c21b2001a8b4d4ae40854c1f37345456\">Maybe even do it three times.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-black-color has-text-color has-link-color wp-elements-215df004f9843c66040014472276ff9a\"><strong>If this story touched your heart, share it with someone you love. And don\u2019t forget to like it if you believe in the little things that keep us close.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My mom had an obsession with the number three. 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