Last week I received an email from one of our administrative team at the medical school, reminding me that I have just over two months to fully clear my office – to shred or archive all old research papers and data, get rid of the mountain of books and files, empty my filing cabinet, clear my hard drive, and hand back all my IT and other equipment.

Once I’d got over my initial shock and the reactive ‘I can’t possibly do that, there’s far too much, and what about all that academic stuff I want to keep on?’ I realised that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. I do need to wake up to the fact that, come October, I will no longer be a paid employee of the University with all the benefits (and responsibilities and frustrations) that brings. It is also high time I had a good clear out of all the accretions of 13 years as an academic.

When was the last time I opened that file of research interviews I did back in the late 1990s?

So, taking the bull by the horns, I started work on one of my filing cabinet drawers. After filtering through each file, I think I ended up with just two or three papers worth keeping.

This particular drawer held all my case notes from the South West Infant Sleep Scene study I did with Peter Fleming in the early 2000s. As I started shredding the interviews from those early home visits to bereaved families, I reflected on the blessing it has been to meet with, and hopefully offer some support to, so many amazing families.

Longing for a world where children don’t die

The dramatic drop in SIDS rates in the 1990s has been one of the most impressive successes of epidemiological research this century. I have been immensely privileged to meet and work with many of the leading researchers from around the world who contributed to this work, and in my small way, to contribute to ongoing research, teaching and practice that has seen SIDS death rates continue to fall to this day.

At times it has been truly heart-breaking to meet with families in the horrendous trauma of their child’s death. But it has also been encouraging to know that the work we did in Bristol and elsewhere has contributed to more compassionate and thorough responses to unexpected child deaths. I have, over the years, had many expressions of thanks from bereaved families who have appreciated the care and support they have received from my colleagues in health, police, and social services.

And, even more encouragingly, over the course of my career, I have seen the numbers of children’s deaths decrease.

When I started my medical training in 1982, nearly 8,000 children in England and Wales died before their fifth birthday. By the time I started work as a consultant, that figure had fallen to less than 4,500. Now, as I retire, the figure is just over 3,000. Just looking at the past two decades, that suggests there are 15,000 children and young people alive today who might not have been if our mortality rates had stayed at the 1997 level.

Has my work contributed to that fall?

Perhaps I will never know, but I like to think that, in some small way, my research and teaching and the little steps I have taken to engage with individual parents and children might have made a difference to some. And perhaps, with so many others making their small contributions, we may just be moving towards a world where children don’t die.