The story of Wes (part 2 of 3).

If you didn't catch Part I of this blog, you can read that here.

The first weekend Wes and Mom spent together, I didn’t hear from her much. I knew they were grabbing dinner together that Friday, but I didn’t know that they would be making a full weekend of each other’s company (hell, perhaps they themselves didn’t know).

I talked to her on the phone that Monday, and her voice was different. Lighter. Carefree. 26 days later, she told me she loved him. And I believed her. It was impossible not to.

It was from that point on that I began to play a different role in my mother’s life. I love my mom dearly and we were best friends, but in hindsight, we were as close as we were, in some ways, because I felt she needed me. I had a role to fulfill. The diligent daughter.

I remember hurting her feelings once.

Every day, no matter what, we’d play Worlde together. Instead of using the app, she would text me her guesses, and I would send back the clues. This drove Brad NUTS; he couldn’t understand why I just wouldn’t teach her how to play herself. But she and I knew why – it was our way of bonding every single day, even if we didn’t talk.

Usually, I would have an unread text message from her before I even woke up. It would always be a five-letter word – her first Wordle guess. However, I couldn’t give her clues until I solved the puzzle myself first. Sometimes, if I didn’t respond fast enough to her liking (patience was not my mother’s strong suite, nor is it mine), she would send me another text, “Hello?” I was having a stressful day at work and replied something like, “You don’t have to double text me if I don’t respond to your Wordle texts. I will get to them when I can.”

I replay that moment in my head a lot. I wish I would have been gentler, more patient. But that’s not the point of this blog.

After she met Wes, I didn’t wake up to texts anymore. Sometimes, it would be 9:00 at night, and I would text her, “Are you going to send a word today?”

Other times, I would call her on my way to volleyball and say, “I will call you on my way home after.”

To that, she’d reply, “What time do you think that will be?”

“I don’t know. 8:00, maybe?”

She'd say, almost guiltily, “Well, I will be on the phone with Wes then.”

It was as if the Universe was preparing me, as I adjusted to communication with her being less and less.

Please don't misunderstand, I was delighted that she had a new life outside of talking to her grown daughter.

Once my family learned the news that Wes would be moving in with mom, I got texts like, “Do we know anything about this guy?” And “Is this a good idea?” And “What is this guy’s motive? She doesn’t have any money.”

To everyone, I replied something of this nature: “I get that it’s objectively crazy. But somehow … I don’t think it’s that crazy. I’ve never seen my mom like this with anybody – including my dad. I can hear the happiness in her voice. If mom’s gut is telling her this is the right thing to do, then I trust her gut. And if it all goes down in flames, then it all goes down in flames."