Coffee Grounds

"I'm just so scared that I won't see it coming." Her back was turned to me, fibers from her fluffy, muted yellow sweater floating in the rays of sunlight shining through the kitchen windows. "See what coming?" She said without turning around, still focusing on pouring the coffee beans into the grinder.

"The big explosion, the fallout, the-the nuclear bomb." I waved my hands in the air searching for more ways to describe it, "The-" "Conflict." She finished the sentence for me. "Yeah, I guess," I said, deflating, feeling like that word wasn't big enough. "Not just conflict, but losing another friend."

We were both momentarily silenced as the coffee grinder started gnashing its mechanical teeth together. I watched through the clear glass as it ripped the beans to shreds. That's what it felt like, I thought. Losing my best friend felt like being a little roasted coffee bean dropped into a monster's hungry mouth. Its teeth spin you 'round and 'round until your head is pounding, and before you know it, you're left there lying in a thousand pieces - impossible to put back together.

The grinder slowed to a stop, and the grounds were poured into the drip coffee maker. "Mom," I said as if she had forgotten I was there. She pressed the BREW button and turned around to face me, where I was sitting at our small dining table.

"Express your fears, honey." "I am expressing them!" I said, exasperated. "Express them to your friends. People respect it when you're vulnerable, when you open up to them. Most people fear showing these tender parts of themselves because of past wounds. Everyone is scared of being betrayed, lied to, disappointed... It's human nature." She turned towards the cupboards above the counter and reached up to retrieve two mugs. She placed them on the counter. One was a delicate mug adorned with hummingbirds and colorful flowers; the other was a chunkier Winnie-the-Pooh-themed honey pot.

Her mom eyed the gurgling coffee pot, checking its progress, before taking a seat at the table. I was quiet, tracing letters etched into the table's wood over the years with my finger absentmindedly. My mom peered into my face, "What are you afraid will happen if you tell them?" She said.

I spoke slowly, a bit breathless with anxiety, "I'm worried that they won't understand, that they can't understand, because maybe they've never lost a friend before. I'm worried they'll think I'm weird and make fun of me behind my back. I'm worried that they might be offended that I even suggested that there might be a problem with our friendship in the future."

She paused a beat to make sure I was finished speaking before answering. "Those anxieties go both ways. If these friends are your friends, people who care about you and want to be around you, they will want you to feel better. They will want to resolve things; they won't want you feeling anxious and scared."

She got up to pour the coffee into our mugs, and I watched the steam gently waft up as I digested what she said. "I didn't think about it that way," I said. "I guess the fear...is making me overthink things." I wrapped my hands around the honey pot mug, warming the tips of my fingers. "For a long time after I lost my best friend, I felt like those coffee grounds. All crushed to dust, good-for-nothing, soggy grit."

My mom smiled, sorrow touching her eyes. "Yeah, I know how that feels," She said softly. "But," her voice perked up, "coffee grounds aren't good for nothing." "Oh, really?" I replied with a dramatic eye roll. "Really!" she said, "You can use them for compost." She got up and retrieved a bowl from the cupboard. I sensed one of her patented Mom's Show-and-Tell Life Advice incoming.

"So you're the coffee grounds, huh? Life just put you through the grinder, drained the joy out of you, and left you not even knowing who you are anymore. You pick yourself up gently," She gingerly lifted the coffee filter up. "And you do whatever you can to get out of there, preferably with some help." She started shaking the grounds out into the bowl. A tiny clump landed on the counter, missing the bowl. "Don't worry about leaving some parts of yourself behind." I was trying to appear nonchalant, but I couldn't help my growing smile.

"Then, you venture forth, not sure where you're headed at first." She slipped on her mud-encrusted clogs and opened the door leading out from the kitchen into the backyard. The dew was still glistening on the blades of grass and the tree branches, not yet evaporated by the sun. She headed over to the wooden compost bin where dead leaves and vegetable scraps lay inside.

"You find what's going to help you grow. Community, creative projects, books, film, music, nature. Whatever inspires you." She poured the coffee grounds into the compost bin and began mixing them by hand. "Immerse yourself in it, so that when spring comes, you'll be rich with everything you need to grow something new. You'll have a strong foundation for the next season of your life. Our lives have seasons just like the Earth, you know, brutal winters, passionate summers, quiet autumns, and rejuvenating springs. It's what makes life so beautiful." I raised an eyebrow at her.

She saw the skepticism on my face and laughed. "Alright, I'll stop being all mushy and sentimental now. Oh, you know how it is, all that time spent in the philosophy club got to my head." She switched to a melodramatic voice, "Thank you for tuning in to another Mom's Show-and-Tell Life Advice. We hope to see you next time!" I laughed, "Great timing, our coffee is probably cool enough to drink now." The twinkle in her eye told me she was pleased to have got a laugh out of me. "I promise you mom, just like crayons, dog food, keychains, and umbrellas...I'll never look at coffee grounds the same way again."