His rough, tanned hands stuck out from his crisp, blue suit coat and gripped his knee. But the attempt to hold on and hold it together didn’t last. He drew his hand up to his face and began to weep.

Terror shot through me. My heart seemed to beat out of my chest. I had never seen my father cry before. I had never seen a tear fall down his cheek. I didn’t know what to do, and it felt hard to breathe.

Grief was framed through the actions of my father, and it was something I will never forget. I understood that a dear family member’s life on this Earth was no more. I understood that it was by his own hand, but I couldn’t as a 9-year-old comprehend the complex and devastating thoughts of those who loved him … including my father.

I have written and spoken countless times of the bravery and graciousness of my great-aunt Helen. This man was her son. This was her second time to navigate through the unimaginable loss by one’s own hand.

It was a different time. A time when no one really talked about it. There wasn’t help, there wasn’t support, there was only moving on, which makes her resolve so much more admirable.

If ever there was a known human hero I admired, it was she. Mainly because she never seemed to let bitterness or sorrow devour her or be her identity. She chose joy and life and gratitude. I don’t remember her during this season of sorrow. I remember being confused, and I remember watching grown men weep.

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When I had the opportunity to attend the Healing in the Heartland symposium recently, I was glad to go. I wanted to better understand how in the world anyone could be helped, especially in the realm of agriculture.

Rise above it

That day I saw grown men weep again as they told their stories of losing their farms and how it affected them. I listened as they spoke of their love for their cows and how they didn’t know how to do anything else, but they were making it.

They had risen above the loss. Some had greatly struggled with depression, even suicidal thoughts. But what was different was they did reach out for help. Others recognized their needs. They weren’t afraid to speak up. It took a while for each to admit they needed it, but each of them eventually reached out to someone.

So many things have changed in our world over the past 50 years. Much of it causes us to shake our heads and feel so very discouraged. But a positive has certainly been the erasing of the stigma attached to our deep human emotions and struggles.

We need one another. If you aren’t going through a season of trial, you soon will be, or your neighbor is knee-deep in tribulation now. How many times have we wished we could reach back in time to speak into lonely hearts, yet we can’t do it? But we can learn from it, we can grow from it and we can be filled with great compassion.

My farmer friends, you aren’t alone. You are never alone.

McClain writes from Greenwood, Ind.