What happened

We recently learned the official manner and cause of Evan’s death: the St. Clair County coroner, in conjunction with the medical examiner and the responding officer, found that the death was accidental, not natural, and that he suffocated after being placed on two blankets in a playpen and rolling over onto his face. Prior to the day he died, he had slept in his car seat, his swing, or our arms. The medical examiner found everything from the autopsy unremarkable and ruled out SIDS.

Yet, for some, the matter is still open. To them, denial and interminable searching are preferable to a reasonable, if not thoroughly proven, conclusion. It could have been Sudden Arrhythmia Death Syndrome or Sudden Unexpected Death Syndrome. It could have been Long Q-T. I suppose. I suppose, also, that someone could have surreptitiously entered through a window and smothered our son.

Or worse, perhaps. The hand of God Himself could have turned Evan over to underscore a lesson already learned when we lost Emily Jane: that we cannot count on Him and that trying to do so is a waste.

I see no reason to contest the medical examiner’s findings. What killed Evan was an incomprehensible choice and an inexcusable failure to check on him. Wandering into the Land of If brings no peace. At best, it is merely an unhealthy obsession; at worst, a foolish desire to exonerate the guilty.

Perhaps no other comment—of the dozens of oblivious comments we hear—exemplifies this vacuity better than my own mother’s. When I informed her that Evan’s death was accidental, she responded, “Oh, that’s good.” Incredulous, I asked what she meant. With no hint of recognition in her voice, she replied, “Well, that means it was nobody’s fault.”