When the Well Runs Dry

A few years ago, I participated in an ASIST suicide prevention training program. The objective of the workshop was to “learn how to prevent suicide by recognizing signs, providing a skilled intervention, and developing a safety plan to keep someone alive.”

A month after taking that workshop, I was placed in a situation where the skills I had learned became very useful. I was having a coffee with a friend in a MacDonald’s one morning, when the elderly gentleman seated at the table next to ours turned to us and offered us his coupon for free coffee saying, “I won’t need this. Would you like to have it?” Something in his tone of voice and his body language sounded an alarm in my head. I asked him why he would not need the coupon. His reply was that he would not be around much longer. I few more questions on my part made it abundantly clear that the gentleman was seriously considering suicide. Because of what I had learned during the workshop, I was able to pick up the SOS signals he was sending us when he initially approached us. I also felt confident that I could do something to respond to the situation. I did manage to keep him safe until he could get the professional help he needed. I saw him a few times after that day and I could see that he would pull through the rough stretch he was experiencing.

I have not since had to deal with a situation like that one, and hopefully will never have to again. But one thing I always keep in mind is a notion that is at the very heart of this suicide prevention approach. Underneath the most desperate and numbing situation, there is still life flowing. That life sometimes needs a bit of help to flow freely again when it seems to have dried up.

The house I grew up in as a child was on a well. Occasionally, the pump no longer managed to pull water up. My dad would then have to go fill a barrel with water and “prime” the pump by adding a bit of water in it, thus inducing a vacuum so that the well water could be pulled up and flow again.

The same principle holds true for people. When nothing seems to be left but a void and life no longer flows freely, a bit of priming is necessary. While talking to the gentleman from the MacDonald, he mentioned that it saddened him that his daughter would be hurt by his death. I replied, “You seem to care a lot about your daughter. You must have a good relationship with her?” Buried in the folds of his despair was the love of his daughter for him and his love for her, a love that was still brimming with life.  That was the primer that allowed life to start flowing again in him so that he could seek the help he needed. 

All that is required sometimes is for someone to listen deeply enough to hear the murmur of life-giving love flowing powerfully below.