The Day I Lost Faith in the Stubborn Pride of Farmers
I’d worked with Jeff for a few weeks out on the farm, about half a year before he took his own life. I can’t remember if I was driving yet. I suspect I wasn’t. His dad had sent him to work at our place to see if a change of scenery would do him any good. I immediately sensed Jeff’s pain, but I didn’t have the tools to help. I lacked the wisdom. I lacked the understanding. I had compassion, but that proved to be… useless. At no point did anyone ever consider trying a tactic that didn’t involve back-breaking labor.Then, in their infinite wisdom, they elected that I should be his partner in labor. Not them. Not the adults. Not the ones with the life experience to maybe fix things. Nope. It had to be me.
“Sad are you? Well, go out and work for twelve hours and you won’t have the strength to be sad!” Talking with Jeff proved difficult. Every conversation spiraled into hopelessness. I tried, lord help me I tried, but he refused to see even the chance of good in anything. Normally I can coax a smile out of anyone, but not Jeff. Eventually, I gave up. I sensed that I might be in danger of sinking too.Jeff worked hard. He was strong. When he ultimately decided to direct that strength to the purpose of self-harm, there would be no doubt. After all, on the farm, they tell you not to leave a job half done. They drive that lesson into you.
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