End of the Farmer

A Story by rlmanning

From the perspective of the Farmer, battling depression and disconnect. Based on the true story of mental decline of my own father.

Although I am rarely awake, I can still remember who I am. It seems that most of my days are spent in what I call “a medicine induced coma.” The doctors can’t seem to figure out what's wrong with me, and it seems my God has long since abandoned me. My wife is here, usually pissed off at me for being asleep, but it seems as long as I can remember she's always been pissed about something. Usually something to do with me. My girls, grown now, come and go each day. Sometimes I get a “hi dad!” and a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head when I’m laid up in the recliner. I got three grandkids, only one of ‘em can speak and sometimes I wish he couldn’t. Not that I don’t love him, but he is too much like his mama and grandma sometimes, talks too much.

During my life I found that most people do talk too much. I have certainly been guilty of that. In fact, I have been guilty of a lot of things, but I don’t know what I did to deserve this.

I got the farm back in the 70’s, my dad gave it to me, along with about half a million dollars of debt to go with it. Still, it was mine, as it should have been seeing as I was the only one who gave a damn about it. Even dropped out of NC State to come help Dad out once he started hittin the bottle. 85 milking Holstein cows and about 100 others besides.

Sometimes things get fuzzy, not sure how I got this way. I’m only 64 after all, this year I can finally get on Medicare once I turn 65 this December. If I make it that long anyway. Sometimes I fall asleep when it's light out and don’t wake up ‘til its dark. I'll eat a bologna sandwich like mama used to make me and get back in the bed. Nothing else to do. When it gets light again I’ll get up and go feed the heifers we still have. My wife wants to sell ‘em. Frankly I don’t care. Can’t seem to care about much these days.

Sometimes I do, in those moments when I can see myself again, see my daughters and their beautiful babies. And when I can do that it’s just like I had hoped, all my family, in the house I helped my Daddy build. Then as I sit it hits me. I lost it all. My fault. I failed.

My girls try to help me, but I can see in their eyes they don’t know what to say. I don’t really talk these days unless they ask me something, or to ask my wife what's for dinner. I take my pills, and watch the TV or just sleep. When I sleep I can usually forget what I had. And man I had a lot.

By the end I had a full crew employed year round, one of the biggest operations in the area. Milking about 200 cows twice a day. Had my own mexican and everything. Got him from a farmer that went and started doing that organic s**t and that mexican didn't want to do all that paperwork. He didn't speak any english, although I guess he knew enough to get the job done. He did real good, hard to find someone to work those hours. Up at 2 every morning to get the parlor set up to milk at 4, and then again at 2 in the afternoon to milk again at 4.

4 other guys, one of them a full-time mechanic. Another was my herd manager, I don’t really like to fool with the cows unless I gotta. We grew corn for silage, wheat, beans, and some alfalfa too some years, although it's not worth the hassle if you ask me. I took that farm from a money pit to a full time business supporting my whole family, plus 5 other families besides. I was damn proud.

Head deacon in my church, 4 beautiful girls who worked with me every summer. They were damn good ball players too. Their mama got them on this travel softball team, which I won’t too keen on first because they had to miss a lot of church. But they were damn good, like I said. I loved watching them play, they were always so determined, so tough out there. Made my chest swell to hear folks all around the county talk about them Shumaker girls. Good ball players they’d say. It was true.

Back in the 90’s, I had a bad seed on the farm. Mind you, we don’t get a lot of highly educated folks coming to work in cow s**t and grease, but most was hard working and decent. My herd manager at the time lived on the farm in one of my trailers with his two kids. Well teenagers at the time, a boy and a girl. One night when he was up early to milk the cows, that bad seed went in that trailer to get that girl. The brother jumped on him, told his sister to run. Well you can guess how it went. The girl ended up dead and the boy almost so. I couldn't help but feel it was my fault. I didn’t know what to do or say.

That's when I turned to God. Who else could help me?

I listened to God when he talked to me. We started going to church real regular. My wife won’t too crazy about that. I think that's when she started gettin’ real pissed at me. And she never did stop gettin’ pissed at me.

Now, when I am awake long enough to think, my mind drifts back to those days. It's like a nightmare I couldn't erase. That could have been my girls. If I had been the one gettin up to milk the cows, that could have been my family. Only God knows why someone does something like that. I get up from my chair, see my wife trying to crank the tractor, who knows what she gets up to these days. I can’t even stand to look out at the farm that was once my life. My hands start shaking and I stuff them in my pockets to stop them. I go take my pills and go back to sleep.

In my dreams I’m 45, maybe 46, reliving the days when I worked 18 hour days and only slept 4 hours a night. Maybe that's how I ended up in this state. Maybe God’s not punishing me, maybe I did this to myself. But why ain’t God helping me? I paid my tithes, more than I had to if I’m being honest. I did my best to live right. Didn’t drink like Daddy and Grandaddy did. I didn’t want to die falling down the steps like he did. Maybe I ate too much, but I worked hard and you can’t work hard if you’re hungry. Anyway, in my dream I’m up under the silage chopper for the 4th night in a row. Like clockwork that chopper broke every day just as we were finishing up. I’d stay up til 3 in the morning to get it fixed, sometimes one of the guys would help, sometimes it was just me. My wife would bring us dinner, sandwich or something. I’d fall into bed and wake up a few hours later to start again. At the time I hated it, couldn’t remember why I didn't just get a degree from State and get a job working for someone else like my brother and sisters did. They weren’t up all night working on a hard concrete floor. In my dream I heard my alarm going off, so I woke up and it hit me.

I sold out. Cows are gone. Crew is gone. I just left the looney hospital. Well they told me I was there. I don’t remember it. They hid all my guns, told me I was going around saying I didn't want to live anymore. I don't remember it. Do I want to live? I can’t get up enough energy to care. I think I want to live, I just can’t remember why. So I get up, fix another bologna sandwich and get back in my recliner. My wife comes in and asks what I’m gonna do today. I just look at her for a long second, I’m trying to answer but nothing seems to come to mind. What did she ask? I can’t remember, and I can’t seem to care, although I know that I do. I blink and turn my head back to the TV. MASH is on. Good. I watch for a minute while I finish my sandwich. I close my eyes and fall back asleep. I know I need to take my pills again, but I’ll get to it if I wake up.

© 2020 rlmanning

Author's Note

First draft. I tried to trim it down but couldn't manage to cut anything. Not sure of the ending.

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Reviews

barleygirl

WOW! This is one of the best character portraits I've ever read! I love the way you interweave the good parts (pleasant reminiscing) with the not-so-good (feeling wiped out). You use the best specifics I've ever heard to paint the picture of a person that's mostly sacked about life, due to old age & depression. I am 64, going on 65, & I feel many of these feelings all the time, after having an active productive life & now I'm so disabled I can barely get thru the basic day-to-day of survival, living alone. I love the way you describe the relationship between hubby & wife, which is exactly how half the men I know feel, as far as nagging & critical commentary ad infinitum from wife & sometimes kids. This may be your dad, but you've really painted a tapestry of the human condition, your details are so applicable & prevalent (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie