An old woman came in one day, tortured by grief after her husband’s passing.

“I can’t sleep anymore. Each night when I close my eyes, I see his lifeless body, white skin, and eyes fixated in the distance as if he’s ignoring me. There’s so much I wanted to say to him. So many regrets… I wish I could apologize for all the arguing and tell him that I love him, but I can’t, and it’s killing me. Three simple words that I took for granted, and now I wish I had said them a hundred times each morning. I need to get some sleep, Yaga. I’m starting to lose my mind.”

“You don’t need sleep.” - grandmother answered - “You need to make peace with yourself.”

Then she opened the stash of herbs and dug in it until she found a tiny leather pouch. She pulled the strings that held it closed and pulled a small white seed from it. It was the size of a sunflower seed but rounder.

“Eat this tonight before you go to bed. You won’t see your husband’s dead body tonight, but you might see something worse. And remember - sometimes things need to get worse before they get better.”

“What did you give her?” - I asked her when the rattling of the wooden idols announced told me the lady had left.

“I gave her a vision. The seeds will show her what she needs to see.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know. They show you something from the past or the future. Something to make peace with yourself, and it’s different for everyone. But it’s not always pleasant.”

When the season for harvest came, the family spent most of their time in the field. I was stubborn and refused to accept that my condition was getting worse. Each time I tried to go with them and help, my brothers had to walk me home and put me to bed. I felt useless, a burden. Hearing my father and mother whisper about how bad the crops were this year. On top of this, the sun wasn’t shy. So when it reached the highest point in the sky, I had to hide inside and wait for it to turn orange at sunset. The heat was making it hard to breathe.

Father wouldn’t say anything, not to my face, but I know he felt they were too soft on me. Maybe I could have just pushed through, he joked. You just have to cough everything out. That’s it. But I know that every joke is a half-truth. Maybe I could have pushed through, but I was on the verge of passing out after two plows.

Father always patted me on the head in a way that said everything. I was at least thankful for that. I didn’t feel good staying here, coughing and staring at the trees outside. Not one bit. I dreamt of going out. Much like the lady who took words for granted, I took life for granted. Going to the field, sweating and laughing. Complaining about the hot weather.

Running without going out of breath.