By Joe Gramling, SUDC father to Miles

Four years ago, on Father’s Day 2022, my wife Mara and I awoke to find that our beautiful 15-month-old son, Miles, was no longer with us. The light of our world was gone, and we entered a period of darkness we never thought we would escape.

I rewound the past endlessly, combing through every detail. Surely there was something I could have done differently? Some mistake I had made? I felt that my son’s death was my own personal failure. I believed that if I could only identify the error, I would find the answer that could have saved him.

Those jagged edges tortured my mind and drove me into the darkest corners of grief.

While searching for relief for my broken heart, I came across a discussion on the science of grief. I learned that the human brain maintains relationships through three factors: knowing where someone is in space and time, understanding how long it takes for them to respond to us, and the intensity of the relationship itself.

When we lose a child, two of those anchors disappear. We do not know where they are in space and time. We have no way of measuring when they will answer our call. Yet there is one thing that remains: the intensity of the relationship.

Those neural pathways that hold our love, our memories, and our connection can still be nurtured and tended.

In that space, Miles still lives.

I feel him every time I see a picture of his smiling face or hear his sweet giggle in one of our videos. In that way, he is still here with me, not as an idea, but as a cherished part of who I am. He is present in the joy of the 15 months we shared together.

As fathers and parents, we take immense pride in protecting and caring for our families. When a child dies in our care, it can feel impossible not to blame ourselves. The cruelty of Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC) is compounded by not knowing why. Miles’ death felt senseless to me, like a path taken that was never supposed to be.

Yet the longer I have sat with Miles in my heart and mind, the more I have come to believe that his life was not lost, but was a life gained.

I still catch myself saying, “Miles would be this age today,” and that is okay. But I also know that he was 15 months old, and those were the sweetest 15 months of my life. Those memories are worth protecting. The intensity of my relationship with my son is worth nurturing.

I remember and celebrate Miles every day.

I still never know when a picture, a conversation, a movie, or a memory will make me laugh or cry. But that is okay too. Over time, the jagged edges I never thought would dull have softened, and I have found joy and love again.

If you are a bereaved father, know this: you honor your child by continuing to live. Know that you are not the villain your grieving mind may convince you that you are. Know that even though your child may no longer be present in this physical world, they remain alive within you.

Their laughter, their personality, their love, and the memories you created together still reside in the connection you carry. That connection is worth protecting.

May your heart heal. May your child’s memory remain bright. And may your days continue to be guided by the love of the children we still hold so dear.