Father’s Day used to be simple for me.

It was baseball games, school events, bad jokes, loud dinners, and trying to figure out how to be the kind of dad my kids deserved. Truthfully, I’ve really only ever wanted to be a father. Out of everything in my life, that role mattered most to me.

Then I lost my oldest son in 2011.

And devastation does not even begin to describe what happens to a parent after that kind of loss.

People talk about grief like it’s a process with stages and timelines. For parents who bury a child, it doesn’t work that way. The loss becomes part of your structure. You learn how to carry it, but you never stop carrying it.

For a long time, I struggled with the question every grieving parent asks themselves:

What could I have done differently?

That question can consume you.

TiNHiH was born from that pain. Not from business plans or strategy meetings. From heartbreak. From wanting another father, another mother, another family to have a chance at a different outcome.

Every youth we work with reminds me of somebody’s son.

Every adult fighting for recovery reminds me somebody still loves them deeply, even when addiction tries to convince them otherwise.

That perspective changes how you build programs. It changes how you show up.

You stop seeing people as cases or statistics. You see human beings who still deserve time, dignity, structure, accountability, and hope.

Fatherhood also teaches you something important:

Love is not passive.

Real love protects.

Real love stays involved.

Real love tells the truth even when it’s uncomfortable.

That is how we approach this work at TiNHiH.

This Father’s Day, I’m thinking about fathers carrying pride, exhaustion, fear, guilt, hope, and grief all at once. Some are celebrating. Some are struggling. Some are missing someone they love deeply.

I understand that space more than I wish I did.

But I also know this:

Pain can either isolate us or give purpose to what we do next.

TiNHiH became my purpose.

Not because grief disappears, but because helping others gives grief somewhere to go.

So this month, I want to say thank you to every father, grandfather, mentor, staff member, and caregiver who keeps showing up for the people they love.

Presence matters more than perfection ever will.

— Joe Engle

Founder and CEO

There Is No Hero in Heroin Foundation