I used to think my mom just worried too much. Always fussing, always checking. But then I realized

I used to think my mom just worried too much. Always fussing, always checking. But then I realized… she was holding a hundred little things I never noticed. The mailbox was always empty because she already grabbed the bills. The fridge never ran out of basics. My laundry somehow ended up folded on my bed even when I swore I’d do it myself. And I never said a word. That’s the version of me that keeps shrugging it off, keeps assuming it’s just what moms do — until one day she can’t anymore. But this time I caught it. I came home and saw the groceries lined up on the counter, the clean shirt hanging in my closet, the trash already tied and out. My throat tightened and I finally said, ‘Hey… thank you for all of this. Not just today, but always. I see it.’ She brushed it off, called it nothing — but I saw the way her shoulders dropped, like she’d been carrying that silence for years. I use an app called ‘quiet effort.’ It keeps me from living in the version where I only say it after she’s gone.