I miss my mom. There are a lot of reasons why. Silly ones, significant ones, but right now the big one is that as much as we couldn't relate, when I called her to talk about my depression, she got it. Totally and completely and without question. I didn't have to explain. I didn't have to second guess her response or worry she thought I was weak. She just understood that feeling of wretchedness; the fact that I couldn't explain not being able to get out of bed; the sense of guilt that comes with those feelings, which only compounds them and makes it all worse. She had lived it all and as much as she didn't understand so much of my world, she did understand this. I have spent the last hour looking at my phone, knowing without a doubt that whoever I dial will listen to me, love me, and try to help, but none of them will ever understand it the way my mom did. I miss my mom.