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Mental health is getting easier to talk about, but suicide is still one of those words that makes people uncomfortable. We lower our voices. We don't know what to say. We worry about saying the wrong thing, so sometimes we don't say anything at all.
But silence isn't helping us.
This week, our little community experienced a heartbreaking loss. A young person died by suicide. Someone lost a son. Someone lost a grandson, a family member, a friend. A school lost a student, and an entire community was left trying to process something that is incredibly difficult to understand.
There are details of that loss that aren't mine to share, and this column isn't about trying to explain what happened. But it is about what happened afterward--the conversations taking place in homes throughout our community, including mine.
I spend a lot of time advocating for mental health resources in agriculture and rural communities. I have talked about the stress farmers carry, the isolation that can come with rural life and the importance of checking on our neighbors. I know the statistics. I know the resources. I know this is something that can happen anywhere.
And yet, I was still taken aback when I found myself sitting with my 12-year-old son, answering his questions about suicide because of the loss our community had just experienced.
As a mom, those are questions you never really expect to have to answer. And as difficult as that conversation was, it reminded me that as much as I talk about mental health professionally, these are conversations we need to be having at our kitchen tables, in our barns, in our schools and with the people we love.
Small towns and rural communities aren't exempt from mental health struggles. In fact, suicide rates in rural areas have consistently been higher than in urban areas, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Agriculture brings its own challenges, too. Farmers and agricultural workers face financial uncertainty, long hours, weather, isolation, unpredictable markets and the tremendous responsibility of keeping a farm or family business going--often while being expected to simply tough it out.
Our kids are struggling, too. Suicide remains one of the leading causes of death among young people in the United States.
Those are difficult words to write. They should be difficult to read.
Because behind every statistic is a person.
Someone's son or daughter. Someone's mom or dad. Someone's grandchild. Someone's sibling. Someone's friend. Someone who sat at a kitchen table, walked through a school hallway, worked beside someone or laughed at a joke.
When suicide happens, one of the first questions we naturally ask is, "Why?"
Why did this happen? What was going on? How could someone believe there was no other way? Were there signs? Could somebody have done something?
Maybe we need to spend a little more time asking another question:
Why are so many people afraid to tell someone when they are struggling?
Why do we feel like we have to have everything together?
Life is busy. It is hectic. It is expensive. It is stressful. We are constantly connected, constantly comparing and constantly being shown everyone else's highlight reel while living every messy minute of our own lives.
We expect a lot from ourselves. Sometimes society expects even more. We are supposed to work hard, raise good kids, maintain relationships, pay the bills, volunteer, answer the texts, make the practices, attend the meetings and somehow still find time to take care of ourselves.
In agriculture, we add another layer. The work still has to get done. Animals need fed. Crops need harvested. Equipment breaks. Bills come whether commodity prices are good or not. Generations of farmers have been taught to put their heads down, work harder and figure it out.
There is strength in that mentality. But there also has to be strength in saying, "I'm not okay."
We have to make those words safe to say.
Check on your kids--and don't always settle for "I'm fine." Know who their friends are. Pay attention when something seems different. Have uncomfortable conversations before you think you need to have them.
Check on the friend who has been unusually quiet. Check on the farmer who hasn't been at the coffee shop lately. Check on the person who is always the strong one for everyone else.
And when someone tells you they are struggling, listen.
You don't have to have the perfect words. You don't have to fix everything. Sometimes the most important thing you can do is sit beside someone and make sure they don't have to carry whatever they are carrying alone.
And if you are the one struggling, please tell somebody.
Tell your spouse. Tell your friend. Tell your doctor. Tell your teacher. Tell your pastor. Tell a counselor. Call or text 988. Keep telling people until someone hears you and helps you take the next step.
And if you know me, you can tell me.
I may not have the answer. I may not be able to fix what hurts. But I can listen. I can sit with you while you cry. I can listen while you vent. I can help you find someone who knows what to do next.
There is no crop, no farm, no job, no grade, no relationship, no mistake, no expectation and no difficult season that is more important than your life.
We can wonder "why" after someone is gone. Or we can work a little harder to make sure the people around us know, while they are still here, that it is okay to say, "I need help."
Let's make that the kind of community we live in.
Orahood is the organization director at Ohio Farm Bureau Federation for Ashtabula, Geauga, Lake and Trumbull counties.