She gives me her shoes and sends us underwear in the mail

I miss my mom.

I know I'm 34 years old and have a family of my own and might be too old to say things like that, but I do.

She fell for the second time this summer and broke her hip. Two days later, after a heartbeat scare and a ton of testing, she had a hip replacement surgery. While I never got the frantic call from my dad that things were super sketchy, the very thought that something could go wrong and how vulnerable she now is has been a weight following me around.

A dark, mortal cloud that rains on me in the form of 10 p.m. tears after the kids and the husband have gone to bed and I don't have to explain my sadness to anyone. I miss her and the thought of a world without her stings the eyes like a freshly cut onion.

My grandfather, Pop, died Easter morning and the world hasn't been the same since. I figure this is where all this fear and sadness comes from.

Debra and I have such a deep, messy, and real bond that there have been times in my life when I've wanted nothing more than an ocean or two between us. And then she can't get on a plane coming in my direction fast  enough.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull.

We are such different creatures and yet, there is so much that is so much the same in our personalities.

Intense. A smidge judgmental. Fierce. Opinionated. Outspoken. Worriers. Bossy.

It's so funny, really...to think about the things that drive me the most crazy about her when we fight are the very same characteristics I fight inside my own personality. Kinda ironic, really.

And yet...

And yet.

There is no one like her. Not even me. We share a flair for art and writing. We share a love of food and cooking (she's way better than me). She fights hard and she cares even harder.

She is the only person on this planet who will give me her nifty New Balance shoes just because she has them and I don't.

In a world where I am the worrier for a family of five other humans and no one really worries about me at the end of the day, she is the only one in this universe who will wonder if I have enough underwear. If my kids have enough new underwear. And when she gets the vibe that any of us don't, a tightly-taped package will arrive in my mailbox in 3 to 4 days with brand new Hello Kitty (me...don't judge), Shaun White (Boy Wonder), or Bob the Builder (Boo) undies inside.

If she thinks I need clothes for the kids, boxes upon boxes will arrive until every child in the neighborhood under the age of 4 would be clothed for at least two seasons.

She has a heart that big that worries about the small details in my life that no one else does.

She's my biggest critic when she thinks I need it and my biggest fan, even when no one else seems to be.

And tonight, and tomorrow night, and all nights after that...I'm thinking about her, hoping she's getting some sleep (and not awake until 3 a.m.) and that's she's well.

For once, I'm the worrier and I worry she doesn't know how much I care. Or how big her presence really is in our lives.