Last Thursday, Dermot Hogan was working on the farm in Coolderry near Roscrea, Co Tipperary, when he died. He was painting the roof of a shed when he stepped on a Perspex sheet and fell to the ground. Dermot is survived by his wife Marie, daughters Lisa, Rachel and Ciara, parents Margaret and Kieran, and brothers Kevin and Eugene.

His brother Eugene said the role of the local neighbours will always be appreciated. “The parish has been unbelievable. We were only getting around to thinking what had to be done when the neighbours had a marquee put up. The men had done up a rota for the women to make the tea in the house,” Eugene said.

Dermot’s father Kieran wants farmers to learn from their tragedy.

“It’s too late for us but hopefully somebody else might learn from this. There needs to be a grant for putting a safety net under the roofs of sheds. If there had been one under the roof here, Dermot would still be alive,” Kieran said.

Dermot was the 16th person to die on Irish farms this year; this is the same number as the whole of 2013.

Eugene gives a moving family account of the accident and the days following it. The pain and suffering of the Hogans is enormous but, unfortunately, not unique. Please farm safely.

EUGENE HOGAN’S ACCOUNT

Dermot Hogan fell just 10ft to his untimely death sometime around 8 p.m. on Thursday evening last, only minutes after he had climbed to paint the galvanised shed that would winter his prized herd.

At the same time, his adoring wife Marie was standing no more than 30ft away, her back to the shed, putting her neat brush-strokes to a gate. A couple working in perfect symmetry, as only the best of couples can, on a beautifully sunny summers evening. Readying the farm for the darker days and nights ahead and the inclement weather they would bring.

But with Dermot’s fall in that most fleeting of instants, a darkness so deep and despairing would come crashing down on Marie’s world, the world of their children Lisa (24), Rachel (20) and Ciara (15), Dermot’s parents Kieran and Margaret, his brothers Kevin and I, relatives and countless, countless friends who knew and benefited from the depth of a quite amazing young man.

Dermot fell 10ft onto a flat surface and, together, we all fell with him, onto the most outrageous sword, one that has pierced our hearts so deep that one wonders will it ever be withdrawn.

Marie turned after hearing what she thought was the sound of the brush falling, looked up on the shed roof to where Dermot should have been but there was no sign of him. She quickly took the few steps to the shed and there he lay, flat on the ground, his life already draining from him. Unfortunately, ‘death do us part’ stealing in ridiculously early.

She reached into his pocket, found his phone and dialled a neighbour for help and immediately then the emergency services. They talked her through CPR. She worked bravely and feverishly, doing all she could to stop Dermot from slipping away to a place he had, in reality, already departed.

Emergency, services were raced to the scene. Family were called by that most loyal of neighbours – and there are so many - followed by other friends.

We’ve all heard about those phonecalls; we’ve been to the funerals. But when it comes, it plunges you into a place you have never been. Within seconds, at various locations, we are in our cars, racing to the scene, distilling the foreboding ‘expect the worst’ warning. We call on the Almighty, to ones gone before, pleading them to keep Dermot with us.

We arrive at the scene. Marie, the girls, my mother outside on the road. Their faces etched with fear. My brave, brave father is in the shed looking over his dear son Dermot as the paramedics try to work a wonder beyond their or anyone else’s gift.

As I arrive on his shoulder he imparts the most final of words. ‘He’s gone’. Two words that he should never have had to tell a son or anyone else about this greatest of young men. The paramedics continue to work but I recall one saying ‘it’s 47 minutes’. They honourably give up the fight. Dermot has crossed over.

We go outside to relay the most dreaded of news to Marie, the kids, mam and the rest. Cries I have never heard from my dearest before and ones I never want to hear again.

Today, if you’re reading this on publication day, is Dermot’s 46th birthday and all the more reason for me to be compelled to spill out these most personal of moments for our family in the Farmer’s Journal. In reading them I hope you have some sense of, and learn from, what follows for loved ones when farm accidents happen. Unspeakable, gut-wrenching grief. Lives catapulted into a place that has to be entered to be understood. A great and young woman without a husband; three children without a father; a father and mother whose three healthy sons are now two.

I have not room to pay tribute to the brother I have lost and dearly loved but suffice to that since Thursday last, amid the incredible outpouring of support we have received, I have learned that while I always knew I had a great brother, I never realised just how great my brother was. There have been countless stories of people he helped: neighbours in the most amazingly supportive of communities, Coolderry; young men on hurling teams he coached; young men he helped give a start to in life at ABP Nenagh where he was the most proud and brilliant of production managers. The list is endless.

Standing at 5ft8’ Dermot Hogan epitomised the adage that ‘it’s not the size of the dog in the fight but the size of the fight in the dog that matters’. He was every bit his father’s and mother’s son. And I will leave last word to his father from a eulogy so bravely delivered to a packed Coolderry Church on Sunday last, with hundreds more outside. He explained how good a son and man Dermot was. He always, always did was Dad asked of him, except for one time only. That was last Thursday evening in the shed, just as the light peered down on him from the broken ‘clearlight’ that Dermot fell through. Dad asked Dermot, bloodied on the ground, to do one last thing for him. “Get up Dermot; get up,” he implored. Dermot just couldn’t. One ask he could not deliver, one fight he could not win.

Whatever you do when you go about your business farming this week or any other week, make sure you can get up. Make your farm safe. Be safe.

Happy birthday Dermot! We miss you dearly.