Photographer | Brandon Kapelow

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Hunter Gossett, 19, worked at J&Y Auto with his friend Thane Morgan, a high school student who died by suicide in November 2021. As a survivor of multiple attempts, Gossett is too familiar with the challenge of suicide. “We will never understand his pain or what he was going through,” Gossett says of Morgan. “He never gave any warning signs or red flags or tells or giveaways —at least that me or anyone else saw—that he was in danger of taking his own life. He seemed like a really happy kid.”

In the absence of formal behavioral-health resources, churches like the Fence Lake Community Church help people cope with suicidal ideation or grief. “A major part of my ministry—I call it group therapy on Sunday morning—is to take out of the Scriptures these verses that build people, lift people,” says Dr. Gary Knouf, a pastor at the Quemado Cowboy Church. “Almost everybody, after they leave Sunday, is full of hope.”

Ron, 68, is part of a four-generation ranching family and underwent several reconstructive surgeries following a suicide attempt. “It’s hard to look me in the eye, and it's hard for folks to deal with that without a shudder going down their back,” he says. “That’s a real burden that I have from doing this. I can't just sit down with a friend and have a drink like I used to because it makes them uncomfortable for me to be around.”

Cresta, 69, holds a photo of herself with her friend Dave Moller, who died by suicide in 2012. Cresta herself has also battled with periods of suicidal ideation. “Out here, we don’t have mental-health doctors. Personally, I need someone that can monitor me closely because of previous negative side effects from depression medications, such as feeling suicidal. We just don’t have those services in a rural area. The most you have is somebody who’s gone through something and helps you. That’s about it.”

Of the four homes on this short stretch of road in Alma, N.M., part of Catron County, two had owners who died by suicide.

Cathy, 69, and Dennis, 75, relax with their support dog Ricky. Cathy has lost relatives to suicide and has survived several attempts. During a recent attempt, she reached out to a hotline for help, an experience she called “a fart in a windstorm. [The responder] was quite young, and I guess I was her first active caller,” she says. “She did not know anything about elderly depression. She just knew what she had to say … 'Do you have a plan? Do you have a significant other?’ I mean, am I talking to a person? We're talking about my life.” Cathy and her husband are starting a support group called Bridge to Hope in order to bring new resources into their community. “There’s a legacy of hopelessness. And I’m trying to be a light.”

The DWI (Driving While Intoxicated) Program in Reserve, Catron’s county seat, is one of the county’s only behavioral-health resources. Deborah Boyer, the clinic’s director and a suicide-loss survivor, sees firsthand the overlapping needs in addressing substance abuse and suicide prevention. “The stigma is horrible here. If somebody uses drugs or has attempted suicide or has mental illness, we just alienate them immediately,” she says. “We need some compassion because it ain't working the way it's going right now.”

Craig Lang, 43, is a pastor, EMT, and head organizer for the Apache Creek Deaf & Youth Ranch, a Baptist summer camp for deaf and disabled young people. In each of his roles, Lang has had extensive exposure to the traumas of suicide. A lack of emergency medical services in Catron County means that local volunteers like Craig must respond to emergencies involving neighbors or even family members.

Naomi Lang, 13, with her horse Duchess. Naomi’s father Craig was the closest EMT to the scene when Naomi was accidentally run over by a truck, requiring him to perform life-saving duties on his own daughter. At a national EMS conference, Craig learned that providing critical care to friends and peers can carry significant risks of developing PTSD. He had to step back from his role as an EMT after developing suicidal thoughts of his own.

Locals refer to a home on Main Street in Reserve as the “Death House” since two consecutive occupants died by suicide.

As a history buff, veteran, and a suicide-attempt survivor, Larry Iams, 74, maintains a careful relationship with his guns. Most of the time he keeps them locked up at a friend's house in Arizona so that they’re out of reach.

After student Thane Morgan’s suicide in November 2021, administrators at Quemado High School brought in mental-health professionals to help counsel students. Years earlier, the neighboring Reserve school district had implemented a peer-support system in response to a string of teen suicides. Local officials point to the success of that program in giving students the tools and training to support one another and be alert to warning signs among peers.

Brenda Johnston, 49, has lost five members of her family—including her younger brother—to suicide. “There’s people that still come and ask how he's doing,” she says. “That’s the hardest part. And they always try to ask why. I’m not going to say to suicide. To me it’s none of anybody’s business.”

Tristan Leyba, 16, worked with Morgan at J&Y Auto and received a farewell text from him the night that Morgan ended his life. Leyba and Morgan wore matching rings to signify their friendship.

Rusty Stewart, 47, a pastor at the First Baptist Church of Quemado, used to wear a gun on his hip that he described as his “backup plan.” After a suicide attempt, he was placed under observation at a hospital and told that “people who commit suicide go straight to hell,” he remembers. Stewart now uses his position at the pulpit to try to dispel stigma about mental health. “I think most depressed, suicidal people are probably closer to God than most Christians. I know because they’re the ones that are really reaching out for help.”

Kathleen, 84, left, and Rose, 79, play cards at the Glenwood Senior Center. Both have lost family members to suicide. The senior center is one of the few dedicated spaces for social connection for the area’s aging population.

Synthetic flowers lie at the grave site of a 56-year-old man who died in January 2021 from complications related to substance abuse—but his mother believes the real cause of death was suicide. Stigma and other factors make it difficult to accurately track suicide deaths, which often leads to underreporting. According to Craig Lang, an EMT, first responders feel inclined to avoid classifying a death as a suicide in order to spare surviving family members stigma and shame.

Hayden Littleton, 18, was 8 years old when she lost her father James to suicide. James Littleton was 40 years old when he died in 2012. According to his daughter, James loved working with horses and running cattle, and was never seen without his signature hat, blue jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt. She is reminded of him whenever she sees images of cowboys.

Jack Diamond, 84, stands at the cemetery in Gabriella, a western replica town built to stage historic-gunfight reenactments and serve as a set for movie productions. Diamond lives and works in the remote settlement with his friend Larry Iams, a Vietnam veteran who was hospitalized by the VA in November 2021 following a suicide attempt.

A sunrise reflected in the windows at Dave Moller’s house outside of Alma, N.M. When Moller ended his own life, he left his treasured home and belongings to his friend Cresta.

Hilda Kellar, 73, is the mayor of Reserve and owner of K&B Timberworks, one of the region’s few remaining industrial employers. She has lost two family members to suicide, including her father, who struggled with chronic pain after an incident with falling timber. Her own struggles with physical pain gave her empathy. “My dad was ready to go, and I don't judge him for it because I know how I have felt with that pain,” she says. "A few years back, I got back surgery … I was hurting so bad that I used to pray for God to take me. I also understand that you can survive it. So I know not to give up.”

Vicki Shriver, 64, the Reserve district EMS medical chief, and her husband Mike Shriver, 70, a pastor and retired state policeman, have both witnessed the shortcomings in their community’s response to mental health crises. “The public still needs people to be able to respond and be a neighbor,” Vicki says. “We take steps to care for ourselves to survive, honestly, because services have disintegrated.”

Firearms on display at a local gun show. In 1994, the Catron county commission voted unanimously to pass a nonbinding resolution stating that every household should possess a firearm and ammunition for the purpose of home defense. In 2019, the county joined a national movement of so-called “Second Amendment Sanctuaries,” where county commissioners and sheriff’s departments agree not to enforce gun-safety laws.

Reflections off Quemado Lake, near 19-year-old Hunter Gossett’s childhood home. “I was raised not to show emotion. If I cried, I was called a little bitch,” he says. “But luckily, I’ve learned that it’s OK to express emotion and not be OK sometimes. Try to always be OK, and you’re going to crumble.”

The road to Sunflower Mesa, where a local teen attempted suicide in 2002. Some attempt survivors, like Amy Whetham, supervisor of the Glenwood Senior Center, experience a change in perspective. “I started being more open about being bipolar, which seemed to help a lot,” she says. “Growing up, I didn’t want to talk to anybody. But it’s part of who I am. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. I know that I do want to live. I’m not ready to go anywhere yet.”

Somewhere I Belong

2020 - Ongoing

In the American West, suicide rates are two to six times higher than they are in the rest of the country.

Catron County, which has the highest rate of suicide death in the contiguous U.S., offers a window into the heart of this crisis.

Published in:

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Quatsino

Quatsino

2019 - Ongoing

In the Quatsino First Nation, nestled in the archipelago of North Vancouver Island, traditional chief Sonny Wallas seeks to repatriate the skeletal remains of his ancestors from museums around the world and preserve his heritage for future generations within his community.

Made in Partnership with:

The Guskimo & Cultural Heritage Society