As the weather turned cold each year, my mom’s knees would quietly begin to ache.

She never complained, just moved a little slower… stood up with both hands supporting her thighs… and winced ever so slightly when she thought no one was looking.

In winter, she practically lived under a blanket on the sofa.

Even with fuzzy socks, her feet were always cold, like they could never quite warm up.

One night, I walked into the living room and found her warming her feet with a hot water bag.

But later she told me she had accidentally burned the skin on her toes because the water was too hot.

That hit me.

This wasn’t “just getting older.”
This was pain. Stiffness. Cold that sinks deep into the joints.
And beneath all of that — a quiet endurance she shouldn’t have to bear.