She got to her grandmother’s place soon after dark. She was so unhappy that her shoulders were dropping and her heart was barely holding together. It seemed like the rain couldn’t stop falling on her coat either. Her lips didn’t move, but her bulging, red eyes revealed the whole story.
She stepped in as the door opened and sat down in the old kitchen chair that had always seemed like home. It was warm and pleasant there, but it didn’t feel like the comfort it used to.
“My husband cheated,” she said, her voice breaking and her eyes full of grief.
She could hardly say the words before she started to cry again. She shuddered at how hard it was to say those things out loud and put her hands over her face.
“I don’t know how to keep going,” she said in a shaky voice. “Grandma, I’m really tired.” I’m done trying. “Life keeps breaking me.”
Her grandma didn’t say anything. You don’t have to hurry to calm down or say something nice to end the silence. As she moved smoothly across the kitchen, her slippers made soft sounds on the tiled floor. She nodded at him a little, as if she understood what he was saying. She put three pots of water on three different burners. She didn’t say anything as she turned on the burner and let the water boil.
She took some fresh carrots, a box of eggs, and a little jar of ground coffee beans out of the pantry. She worked slowly, as if she were in a trance. The granddaughter stared through her tears, not knowing what to say. She felt bad for her granny and didn’t want to question what she was doing.
The grandmother put a lot of carrots in the first pot. The second one had some eggs in it. A tablespoon of ground coffee goes to the third one. But she still didn’t say anything. I just sat there and listened to the soothing sound of boiling water and watched the bubbles rise and fall.
There was silence for minutes, except for the granddaughter’s occasional whimper and the water bubbling in a constant pattern. The coffee brewing made the kitchen smell good, and the warmth of it wrapped around the room like a blanket.
The grandmother finally switched off the burners. She carefully pulled everything out and put it in another bowl. Then she turned to her granddaughter and said, “Come,” in a quiet voice.
The young woman still wasn’t sure, so she got up and went to the counter.
“Tell me what you see,” her grandma said.
“Coffee, eggs, and carrots,” she said, her voice so low that it was hard to hear.
Her grandma nodded and pointed at the vegetables. “Touch them.”
Yes, she did. They were so soft that they almost came apart when she touched them.
“Now, break the egg.”
She tapped it lightly, and the inside was hard-boiled. Okay. Not giving up.
Her grandmother smiled and asked, “And the coffee?”
The young woman thought about it for a while before bending down to smell it. Wealthy. Brave. Welcome. She drank something. It was warm and strong, and for some reason, it was just what she needed.
Her grandma got near. Her eyes were calm and full of wisdom.
“You see,” she continued in a quiet voice, “all of these things went through the same hot water.” But they all acted in their own manner. The water broke the carrot, which was rigid, inflexible, and couldn’t be bent. It’s soft now. Not strong. Not strong. The outside of the egg appeared the same before and after, but the inside turned firm. Stop it. The flames made it harder.
She stopped and grasped the coffee cup like it was a treasure.
“But what about the coffee? It didn’t only hold up to the water. It made things different. It cooked and changed into something else. It turned into something that smelled nice. Something that matters. It didn’t let the environment change it; it changed it instead.
This time, when her granddaughter looked at her, her eyes filled with something different. Don’t stop. Not losing. But acknowledgment.
“Well, my dear,” her grandmother said, her voice filling the room like the steam from the cup. “When life gets too hard, when it hurts, when it breaks, when you think you can’t go on… Are you going to be the carrot? What about the egg? Or the coffee?
There was no need to hurry to acquire an answer. The only things in the room were the fragrance of coffee and the quiet, strong beat of love.
The granddaughter felt something changing inside her when everything was quiet. She thought about the pain: how unhappy, angry, and tired she was. She thought about how life had hurt her and how she had felt like she was falling apart.
But now she saw a another way.
She didn’t have to break like the carrot did. She didn’t have to get as hard as the egg.
She could make beer. She could change. She could handle the pain, the heat, and the confusion of life. She could make something that would be strong, warm, and calming for herself and maybe even for other people one day.
That night, she held the cup in her hands and took another slow sip. She cried again, but not because she was sad.
From strength.
From clarity.
The shift happened right away.
