All Things Joshua

This past weekend, we attended the 2011 National Immune Deficiency Foundation Conference. It was IDF's 30th anniversary, and the conference just happened to be here--in Phoenix!

For the very first time, we finally were able to meet other CGD families who traveled from all around the country to be here. Remember--CGD is very rare. Only about 40 people are born with it each year.

We also had the amazing opportunity of meeting 3 doctors who are experts in the subject of CGD, and spend their entire medical career researching and helping families with this unusual disease. One of which, Dr. Stephen Holland, is now Salesi's new hero!

IDF's motto is: "When you hear hoof beats, think zebras, not horses". In medical school, many doctors learn the saying, "when you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras" and are taught to focus on the likeliest possibilities when making a diagnosis, not the unusual ones. However, sometimes physicians need to look for a zebra. People with primary immunodeficiency diseases are the zebras of the medical world.

So, if you happen to see us dressed up in zebra wear, a little more than the usual, you will now know why!

I Can Only Imagine

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

When I leave this life, I will get to be re-united with my son. I can only imagine what it will be like...

It won't take long for us to get caught up on the time we spent apart. I will start telling him about all the great things he "missed" on Earth, and he will quickly remind me that he was there the entire time, watching and protecting us.

He will give me a tour of the new place, showing me all the tricks and shortcuts. He will proudly introduce me to all of his converts and new friends. Then he will take me around to meet all of our ancestors for whom I helped do temple work.

We will talk about Earth like we now talk about our missions, remembering all the good and the bad, the funny and the sad. But instead of crying over all the sad moments, we will laugh with no worries, knowing that all things have been made fair. We will see the world as God does--having no end, nor beginning.

I will say, "Wow! I can't believe how much I cried over you, and you really were okay this entire time!" He will reply, "Mom, I told you I was!"

Taking Away The Pain

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I felt like I was doing better. Of course whenever I say I'm doing better, it hits me. Again. This time, though, I felt like I hit a new low.

I'm not sure what to do sometimes to take the pain away. All the normal things come to my mind such as: drinking, taking drugs, making myself puke, stuffing my face with donuts, and other things that I won't mention.

So in the end, the only logical answer is to cry. Of course there's the usual, I miss my baby cry, and this is when Salesi will say, "It's okay to cry..." and, "You can hold me instead." (Which by the way, holding a grown man is not the same as holding your baby, as if you didn't know this already.) And then there's the aching cry when I feel all alone and completely abandoned because there's no one I can talk to and nothing I can do to take away the pain.

I've done a lot of silent crying lately as well. This is when I really feel like keeping all the misery to myself, and not even letting my husband know about it. I'm not exactly sure why sometimes I care whether or not Salesi hears me, but I think it has to do with me being embarrassed for the reason of my crying.

There's been a couple of times in the past when I've seen pictures of friends' new babies on Facebook or received a Christmas card in the mail from a family who recently had a new baby and I would go into the laundry room or bathroom to just cry and let it out. This is something that I will ever be grateful for: Knowing that it is very painful for some women to be around babies who have either lost theirs or haven't yet had their own.

But more recently, the reason for my cry, I feel, was even more embarrassing than that, and I certainly didn't want anyone to know about it. For the first time, I felt like there was a small part of me that was mad at God. Just the thought of that makes me want to cry even more. This went on for a few days, until I just knew the only way to settle it was to pray. (Again, you don't realize how hard it is to pray, until you've lost your child and are having "one of those days".)

So, I went into the bathroom and knelt down and just kept repeating, "Please don't let me be mad at you", over and over. God has given me way too much for me to ever have any reason to ever be mad at Him.

Last night Salesi and I were talking, and he said something about, "To much is given, much is required". I definitely feel like I've been blessed beyond measure with an abundance of gifts and talents that I could never complain to God for the trials He's given to me. I imagine before this life, I agreed to all of my challenges, knowing He would compensate them with abilities and blessings.

And in the end, everything I've lost on this Earth really will be compensated, if not here, then in the here-after. (It's just really hard sometimes to always remember that little fact.)

How Different My Life Is Now

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I don't think of Joshua much as being a little baby, because I know right now he is a mature spirit. Nevertheless, he will always me my baby, and I do occasionally wonder what it would be like if he was still here with me. Today, he would be almost 7 months old. He would be crawling, getting into things, and probably teething.

I sometimes forget that if he hadn't died, my life would be oh so different. Meaning, having had a baby die, is quite contrary to not having had a baby at all. Sometimes I forget this, and when I'm reminded of it, it makes me sad.

The other day I thought about my Summer plans, and what I would do differently if Joshua was still here. I tried to figure out who would babysit him so I could go to all of my necessary appointments. Then I sadly realized, that if he was still here, I wouldn't be going to all of those appointments.

I wouldn't be going to immunodeficiency conferences, and I certainly wouldn't be going to so many counseling sessions either.

That harsh reality is painful at times. However, I need to remember that Joshua came and went to make me a better person. The way my life is now, is the way it's supposed to be. There are no such things as accidents. God doesn't work that way.

Thanks For Reminding Me

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

As days go on, I start to think that maybe I'm getting better. I don't spend so much time crying like I used to, and the overall feeling in my gut has improved. I know it's not the most accurate way to measure all this, but for me, it's the only way I know how. Sometimes I feel guilty or upset that I've gone a certain amount of days without crying. Other times, I wish to cry, but I can't force it to come out. And then there are times when, all it takes is a good ol' cheesy movie about a girl who gets her arm chopped off by a shark, or a story of a heart transplant on Oprah to really get my tears flowing again.

In the beginning, it seemed like I spent most of my time crying, or feeling like there was a knife going in my stomach. So, to have a few breathers in between is a nice thing. However, there are always those reminders waiting to jump out at me, when I am certainly not in the mood for them.

For example: The other day a lady said to me, "It's hard having kids...". What was I supposed to say back to that!? "It's also pretty hard losing a kid!" Deep down inside, though, I felt like I wasn't even being viewed as a mother, and that's what bothered me the most. There will always be babies every where I go that will also be a constant reminder of what I don't have. And can I blame those people who have living babies? No, but the bottom line remains: It hurts.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Kaci is fine being around babies because she acts fine!" It's a very hard thing to tell someone that I don't care to look at their baby. Yes, it's hard for me to tell people a lot of things, thus the reason for this blog. I've told things to Salesi like, "If one more person comes over to my house with a baby I'm going to tell them off!" Have I done it yet? No. It's a mixture of me being a chicken and also trying very hard to be polite.

Yeah It Sucks

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I got my tests results back. The doctor wanted me to come in so she could tell me the results in person. That meant something wasn't good. I was right. The blood work came back positive. I'm a carrier of CGD. This means every time I get pregnant, there is a 25 percent chance my baby will be born with Chronic Granulomatous Disease. This is what Joshua died from. To be more specific, every boy I give birth to will have a 50 percent chance of having this disease. To be blunt: I need to have all girls.

How do I ensure that I will only have girls? Well there is in vitro, which could guarantee me a girl or even a healthy boy, but as we all know, it is very costly. There are also many natural techniques one can do to try to have a baby girl, but I'm not sure if I believe these actually work.

Many people ask me when I'm going to try for another baby. Well now you know one of the many, many things I have to consider before I'm ready. And like my friend Chelsea said regarding the matter, "It's not like Joshua was a pet goldfish or something!"

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Kaci will feel all better when she has another baby to hold, and take care of..." I don't have any idea how I will feel when and if I have another baby because I don't know the future. I will always be grieving my son's loss in some way or another, and as of right now, the thought of having another baby brings anxiety, stress, and guilt.

On a funny note... Salesi asked me if I was going to post anything about my results. I told him, "probably not". He said I should write a post about it and call it, "CGD in the House".

Not To Judge

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Not long ago, we received a surprise visit by some old friends. They stopped by to catch up on things, and the conversation quickly turned to the recent death of our son Joshua. We talked about our life before his death, our life after his death, and our life now. I would have to say, that it was one of the best conversations I've had in a very long time.

Our friend told us of her sister who also experienced the tragic loss of her baby last year as well. She asked me about the atonement, and how it has worked in my life. I shared with her my feelings of having a much greater understanding of just what Christ went through, knowing that He had to suffer even the pain I've felt from losing my child.

She told me that her sister has learned that every individual has their own reliance on the atonement. For example, she would hear others talk about how hard their lives were, and what trials they were experiencing. She would sometimes feel that their trials were little in comparison to the loss of her very own baby.

During each person's life, they are in need of the atonement at different levels. We can never judge them in any way. We must never assume that their trial is easy, and that they are being weak.

Everyone will have their turn. Everyone will have to walk through Gethsemane. I believe that to be able to live in the presence of God, you will have to experience something very difficult that will help you to better understand just what Christ went through. You will have to experience something very hard that will test your faith. You will have to be fit for His Kingdom.

With that said, in no way do I feel like the death of my son is, or has been my complete Gethsemane. I'm very aware that God has many more trials in store for me. In fact, on a personal note, I sometimes feel that thus far in my life, Joshua's death has not been my very most trying time. It is definitely up there in the top 2, though.

Once I prove to God that I have learned what he wants me to learn from each specific trial, He will send another big one my way so that I can continue being tested again and again.

And to those of you that don't have many trials at all: Just wait...but it's not for me to judge you anyway.

A Good Grief Benefit Concert (Watch for Joshua!)

It Never Even Happened

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I recently watched a movie called You Again. The movie starts out with a girl traveling home for her brother's wedding. On the flight, she finds out that her brother is marrying her high school bully. She is racked with torment and can't believe this is happening to her. Nonetheless, because this is now about 8 years later, she figures her new confidence and self esteem will get her through this awkward time, and be enough to get that long awaited apology she has always deserved.

However, when she arrives home, the ex-bully/soon-to-be-sister-in-law, acts like the two of them have never even met. This drives her absolutely crazy. This would drive me crazy. This would drive anyone crazy... Well then, please don't do this in real life!!

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that so many people have done this to me and Salesi. They see us at church, and they act like nothing ever happened. They never mention Joshua, his death, the funeral, or anything. I know most people don't even know how Joshua died. I know a lot of people assume that he was born premature, or was in the NICU this entire time. Nope, not true. Ask me how it happened, and I will be more than happy to tell you my story.

I do admit that I have done this once or twice, but I don't want to be that kind of person ever again. I've recently been around people whom I have not seen for quite some time. I know they've heard about Joshua, but are just too scared to bring it up with me. This is awkward for both of us. I know it can be uncomfortable to say something, even scary, but you just gotta be a man (or a woman), and say something. Just a, "I'm so sorry for your loss" is enough, trust me. A hug and, "I'm thinking about you" is also good. Never say, "I understand what you're feeling." If anything you could say, "I really don't know what youre going through, but I'm praying for you."

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "If I say something about her child that died, she will probably start crying and be upset that I brought it up." Some people like to talk, talk, talk, and others don't. I have days where I do feel like talking, and others where I don't want to be around anyone. On the days I wish to be left alone--you will know, don't worry. (I probably won't return your phone call right away.) Whatever you do, just be as sensitive as possible. Once you get past the, "I'm so sorry for your loss", you could say, "I would love to hear about your son and how it happened if you want to tell me."

The One Brave Soul

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

The week of Joshua's death was busy. Most of the days were filled with boring activities that had to be done such as picking out Joshua's plot and casket. However, there was one thing I looked forward to during these days: checking the mailbox. I remember checking the mail with excitement like I never had before (or at least not in the last 20 years), but like I was 10 again with no internet or cell phone, waiting for birthday cards to arrive from grandparents.

Sympathy cards came in by the handful. I anticipated them. I opened each one carefully, read what was written, and then displayed them on my counter as if they were trophies. This went on non-stop every day for about a week following Joshua's death. I loved every single sympathy card I received, with or without money. Each one meant a great deal to me.

Also during this time, we had visitors constantly at our doorstep; some with flowers, some with food, and some that just wanted to sit on our couch to fulfill their duty of stopping by to check on us. As if this wasn't enough, our phone was ringing off the hook as well, mostly with people trying to arrange things for the service.

A few days following the funeral, I asked Salesi if he thought we were done getting cards in the mail, and if there was any chance we would maybe get just one more. He said, "Yeah, I think just one more." Sure enough, there was one more card in the mailbox the next day. And then...that was it. The last of them.

Not only did sympathy cards stop coming in, but home visits stopped as well. Phone calls? Hardly any. Not sure if there's any coincidence in the timing of all of this, but this is also when Salesi went back to work, and then, the entire world seemed to suddenly crash down. There it came--that sneaky little thing called Grief.

This period of time was probably the most crucial. Who was going to call me? Who would continue checking up on me? Would anyone bring me a meal, now that I really didn't feel like cooking? Was there anybody out there who was willing to stick it out with me through the long haul?

Looking back, I now realize that not many raised their hands to volunteer for such a job. Why? Grief can be yucky. Grief can be ugly. Feelings can get hurt all over the place, and not many are willing to put up with all that. There was 1 brave soul out there, though.

I remember shortly after the funeral, she called to ask me how I was doing. I told her that I was doing okay, but knew that things would more than likely be getting worse. She then called back a week or so later to ask me again how I was doing. I really appreciated this phone call, because by this time, things were just then starting to hit me.

She continued to call me every week just to listen, but not to judge. She understood that I would grieve on my own time, and in my own way. To this day, she continues checking up on me, when most everyone else has gotten back to their busy lives, and can I blame them? No. That's life--it gets busy for all of us.

Much later, I found out that shortly after Joshua died, this friend really wasn't sure what to do, and what to say. So, she decided to pray and follow the spirit. Well, I guess you can't go wrong with that decision. She was in tune with the spirit from the get-go and understood that my grief wasn't something that could be fixed over night, or in a couple of weeks time. Even when I didn't feel like talking, she was there, willing and waiting to listen.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "She doesn't seem to like to talk about her loss, so I won't ask her about it." I've appreciated those who have continued to check up on me, even if I didn't feel like talking at one time or another. It seems like many people have assumed that I've been okay because they think I've made it past the hardest part yet, and that it should only get easier and easier. The "hardest part" is different for each individual, and for me, it just happened to be after everyone stopped visiting and calling, and then I really felt alone. If you're willing to stick it out, don't give up on your grieving friend--you will be the one they will come to when they feel like they can't go to anyone else, and that's what makes all the difference.

Joshua Are You Out There

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

You know that kid at camp who was always afraid to go to the bathroom by them self? And that other kid who had to stack pillows up all around their bed to form a protective barrier while they slept? Well, that was me. Okay, it still is me.

Since I have already committed to being honest in this blog, I will admit to something a little embarrassing: I'm afraid of ghosts. Big ones, little ones, mean ones, and even nice ones.

Why do I tell you this? Because in the early stages of my grief, I would find myself sitting on my couch calling out to Joshua. Why in the world would I do this when I just told you I'm afraid of spirits, both good and bad? Well I guess you could say I was so deep in my despair, that I thought if I was able to communicate with Joshua, it would make me feel so much better.

When you lose something so dear to you, as your own son is, you seem to try anything to make the pain go away. If I knew that he was okay in his new world, I would be able to feel a sense of peace. So I would call out, "Joshua, are you there?" I would wait a few seconds for a response, then call out again, "Are you out there Joshua?"

Now I said that I wanted to be honest in this blog, but I didn't say I was going to share everything with you. I will tell you, though, that there was one time imparticular when I called out and asked if he was there, and the response was actually somewhat comical. Let's just say it gave me a small glimpse into the world where he now is and let me know just how he is doing over there.

I've also been driving down the street and have had thoughts come to me whether or not Joshua approves of what I'm doing here on Earth. I sometimes expect to look in my rear view mirror and see him in the back seat shouting, "Hey Mom! Surprise! Isn't it cool how I can fly into people's cars!"

Are You Jealous

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Are you jealous? No, not am I jealous, but are you jealous? Seriously, why would you be jealous of me? This is going to be a stupid topic, but I have to throw it out there: Does it make you jealous to not be a part of this Crappy Club that I'm in? The only reason I bring it up is because the other night I finally got Salesi to take a look at my blog, and one of the first things he read were the words, "The Club" on the right side. He was upset, and wanted to know what it was and why I would put it. I explained to him that it's just a silly way of saying that all those other moms have also lost children, therefore, we all have that in common-- as if we are in a club together.

He still didn't like me using those words, and reminded me of a group of girls who hang out every week but yet never invite me to join in. Unknown to them, it has been hurting my feelings this entire time of more than 2 years. Do I need to forgive them and move on? Yes. Hey, if anything I'm very grateful to them for not inviting me, because it has really opened my eyes and helped me to remember to include everyone. So thanks, girls!

Anyhow, I ended up taking Salesi's advice to change the title from "The Club" to "Other Mommies with Angels". I wouldn't want any of you to be jealous of me and my new club, just like I've been jealous of those other girls and their club. However, now you're probably going to be jealous that I have an angel in heaven. But let's face it, any which way you look at it, it still really is the Crappy Club.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Kaci has a son with a free ticket to the Celestial Kingdom." That might be true, but the cost of my ticket sure isn't cheap. Shortly after the funeral, someone actually said they were jealous of us because Joshua is automatically saved in the Celestial Kingdom, and even wished this for their daughter. WHAT? Are you saying you wish your daughter was dead!? The real question is: Are you saying you want to go through all of the pain and suffering we now face on a daily basis? Yeah... didn't think so.

I'm Tired

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I've decided that if I'm really going to have this blog, I need to be completely honest. No more holding back my true feelings. I can't care what anyone else thinks of me. It hasn't happened to them, so how do they know what I'm supposed to be feeling? Besides, no one really reads my blog anyway...

so here goes...

I'm tired of people not being sensitive to my feelings. I'm tired of obnoxious pregnant women sitting next to me rubbing their big belly while chatting about when their water is going to break and what they are going to name their baby. I'm tired of people constantly teaming me up with either pregnant women or new moms for church callings and visiting teaching. I'm tired of people inviting me over to their house where they have also invited other women who just happened to give birth the same month as me... and their babies are there with them, as if they needed proof.

I'm especially tired of the people who continually ask me how I'm doing, and really don't care for the honest answer. I'm also tired of the people that pee their pants if I tell them I'm actually not doing so great because my son died a few months ago... as if they forgot this small detail. And then there's the people who think they've helped me so much during this difficult time because they've told me things like, "Your son was just too pure for this Earth". Sorry folks, but cliches don't help.

Oh yeah, and then the much older and wiser (and even the younger and hipper) people who have given me advice on the way I should have done the funeral to how I should now be grieving. HA! Why should I listen to you? You people have never even lost a child!

I think, though, what I'm really tired of, is feeling like this. Feeling like the huge ordeal we experienced in the hospital for 3 weeks was all in vain. The countless hours of stress, anxiety, headaches, confusion, and being mislead that entire time... why? Why did I have to watch him suffer? Why did I have to watch him be poked countless times, even to the point of needing blood transfusions? Why did I have to escort him to so many surgeries and x-rays, without his life support machine plugged in, watching with anxiety the RT's every move, wondering if he was going to die right then and there because the RT forgot to pump air for 1 second? Why did I have to watch him become more swollen every day, having to have catheters put in, because he couldn't even pee by himself? Why did I have to watch nurse after nurse stick tubes down his nose and throat, only for him to gag with complete agony while thrusting his entire body trying to spit the tubes out? Why did I have to watch my perfect little baby turn into someone that didn't even look like him?

As you can see, I'm tired of a lot of things. This must be why it's hard to think straight most of the time. I'm dealing with my loss as best as I know how. Writing seems to be good therapy for me. If any of you have a problem with things I've said, I would almost bet that you've never lost a child. I might be wrong, but then again, this is my grief, and nobody else's.

I think I Can See A Light

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Our stake president asked me how I was doing last week. I told him I think I might be "leveling out". It definitely was getting worse for a time, and I'm mad at myself for being fooled for even a second, that, "I can do this, it's a piece of cake!" Grief is oh so sneaky... you must watch out.

Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel doesn't come effortless. I believe the light is placed at the end of the tunnel for just that reason-- you won't find it until you reach the end. The end of the tunnel for me is not found in this life. Sorry, but I'm a realist, remember? I think that some challenges can be resolved and are meant to be resolved here in mortality. However, being "okay" with your child dying, I believe, will have to wait until the next life.

There are some days, though, when it seems as if I can see a light. Does this mean that I'm almost done with my earthly journey? Probably not. I think what it really means is that God is showing me one of his tender mercies by letting me know that things really will be alright.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Kaci has a strong testimony of the Plan of Happiness so she will be able to have an eternal perspective of this loss." Having a testimony of God's plan doesn't make losing my son any less sucky for me. Some days can be especially hard where you can't even think straight, because grief has engulfed your entire physical and mental state.

Comparisons

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

We are told that we should not compare ourselves to others, right? This is so hard to do (or not do), because it's only natural that we would look at someone else and wonder if they are doing something better than us. We all know deep down inside that it's wrong and it only digs a hole for us that we then have to try to climb our way out of. I've realized this more and more as I go through this bereavement period of my life. I've said it before, and will continue to say it: "Everyone grieves differently."

I must remember that I can not compare myself to any other griever... not even my husband. Not comparing myself to my husband has been difficult. During the tough times when I feel the most sad, I turn to him and ask, "Why aren't you sad!? Why aren't you crying!? Don't you care that your son died!?" I must admit that I was very relieved the other night when he started crying after seeing me smell Joshua's little bear before coming into bed. I wanted to cry with him, but at the same time I wanted to shout for joy and say, "Ha! You are finally crying!" I've learned, however, that it is not my responsibility to make sure he cries or doesn't cry. Besides that, we all know how different males and females are, so why wouldn't they be different at grieving?

As I met other "club moms" for lunch last week, I listened to some of their stories. Some of them told me that after their son died, they didn't go to church for over a month, and even after that, they didn't attend Relief Society meetings for many more months. I started thinking, "Should I not be going to church? Should I not be going to Relief Society? Should I ask to be released from my callings?

You're probably wondering why I would be asking such silly questions. Well, it's because part of grieving consists of trying to figure out if I am doing it the right way or not. The truth (for the most part), will always stay the same: There is no right way!

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "My friend acted a certain way when her loved one died, so I'm sure that all people act the same way when they have a loss." Being able to cope with a tough situation varies depending on the following: age; maturity; type of loss; anticipatory time; relationship to the loss; personality; gender; coping abilities; past losses and experiences; physical, spiritual and mental health; lifestyle and expectations; intelligence and education; beliefs and values; family makeup, rules and expectations. (See also "Jesus Wept")

A Bag Of Doritos And A Large Coke

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Sometimes the empty feeling just never goes away it seems. It doesn't matter what I do. I've tried many things, but the most popular thing right now seems to be food. I've never considered my self a junk-food-lover. I grew up in a house with a mom who was a pioneer in the health food movement. She would never be caught dead buying white bread, potato chips, cool-aid, oreos, or sugar cereal. I remember grocery shopping and begging her to just buy one package of cool-aid! "It's only 10 cents!" I would say. I think she responded with, "I don't care if it is free! It's pure sugar!"

Lately, though, it seems as if there's nothing that a coke can't fix. It just tastes so good sometimes. I can't even believe I'm saying that, but since I don't drink alcohol, (oh, and let's be very grateful I don't) I guess it's what "takes the edge off" for me. I used to never drink soda. I almost thought it was evil in a way... just because it was so unhealthy to me. Even my mom used to scare us by saying, "If you leave a tooth in a cup of coca-cola, it will dissolve overnight!"

Now I'm having a hard time losing that extra baby weight I put on when I was pregnant, and eating poorly sure isn't helping. Well, at least eating poorly for me only consists of a soda and ice cream sundays.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "She looks fine so she must be fine!" Everyone deals with their grief differently. Just because someone looks okay on the outside does not mean they are okay on the inside. Some have a complete loss of appetite and others want to eat constantly trying to fill the empty feeling inside. Someone on the phone recently said to me, "How have you been doing because you sound like you're doing good." Being able to have somewhat of a normal phone conversation isn't a good qualification of how someone is really dealing with their grief. Grief affects you not just emotionally, but also physically, socially, spiritually, and intellectually.

What I Believe

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi
Many of you know that I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We are also known as the Mormons. We have no problem being called "Mormons", as long as you understand that it is only a nickname due to the fact that we believe in the Book of Mormon, as well as the Bible.

I've been a member of the LDS Church my entire life, and the topic of "life after death" is the theme of many lessons and conversations in our religion. Our doctrine states "Life on earth is of limited duration. There comes a time for all of us when the spirit and the body are separated in death. But because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, we will all be resurrected, regardless of whether we have accomplished good or evil in this life. Immortality is the gift to every mortal child of our Father in Heaven. Death must be viewed as a portal to a new and better life. Through the glorious resurrection, body and spirit will be reunited. We will have a perfect, immortal body of flesh and bones that will never be subjected to pain or death. But the glory we attain to in the next life will depend on our performance in this life. Only through the gift of the Atonement and our obedience to the gospel can we return and live with God once again." (L. Tom Perry)

I believe this doctrine with all of my heart. I have prayed to know if the church and what it teaches is of God, and I received a witness that it is. Knowing that we will all be resurrected one day, and that I will see my son again is a wonderful thought. Knowing that I have an opportunity to live with God again is a marvelous thing. It truly is. However, this does not take away the pain and suffering that I am experiencing right now dealing with my loss.

As I have suffered many nights, weeping, sometimes uncontrollably, I have felt alone. Very alone. It didn't seem like there was one soul to comfort me, or anyone who could stop my anguish. I have now wondered why I would feel so alone in my most sorrowful moments, why not even God would send His spirit to comfort me. I now know the answer: I have to experience this for myself.

As harsh as this reality is, if I believe that I can live with God and Christ again, I must be worthy to be in their presence. I must pass through each test I'm given on this Earth, even if that test is to have my baby taken from me. God can't take away all the pain and despair...if He did, it wouldn't be a test.

Even in the darkest moments when I feel truly alone, like God has abandoned me, He really hasn't. He is there waiting for me to call upon Him. Calling upon God during these times are the absolute hardest. You would think getting on your knees isn't that difficult to do, but to the griever, oh it is! I've always believed that being worthy to live in His presence requires qualification to receive such glory. Who are we to say we've suffered enough, when even Christ, Jesus, suffered all. Even Christ called out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" I believe then, it's necessary for us to experience just a drop of what He had to go through in order for us to be fit for His kingdom.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Mormons don't need to feel sad because they have the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Plan of Happiness". Even though we believe in the All-mighty God, and that we will be able to live with our families in the eternities... IT STILL HURTS! Having this knowledge doesn't take away the pain, or at least not for a long while! So many people think we shouldn't be sad that we've lost our child due to our religious beliefs, but this isn't true. Losing a child is one of the hardest things for anyone to deal with, no matter what religion you participate it!

The Healing Process

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

As I learn more and more on the complex subject of grief, I start to think about my own healing, and if it's taking place, or when it will take place. Many things have happened since Joshua's death to keep my broken heart from mending. I blame no one for this. We must always remember that grief is a learning process.

For example, I just learned today that "jealousy" isn't really the right word to describe my feelings. I'm in a grieving period, therefore, it's not "jealousy" that I feel, but a "longing, and yearning" to have what so many other people experience on a daily basis: raising healthy babies. I wanted to make that clear, because as I tell a select few about my true feelings, I know it sounds awful that I would have such ugly thoughts, described usually as "jealousy". I'm learning now to identify when that emotion comes so that I can accept those feelings and try to move on with some type of normality. Example: If I see a little baby in the grocery store, I am not going to run out the door, but I will look at him and think, "That baby might be the same age as Joshua", then take a deep breath and get on with my shopping. This sounds oh so stupid and foolish to the "ungrieving", but to the grievers, you all know too well what I'm talking about.

I still have to be very cautious as to which activities and events I participate in. The other day, I was invited to a friend's house, and suspected that babies might be there. Sure enough, there were 2 little babies, probably the same exact age as Joshua. I didn't like the feelings I felt, and honestly, I wanted to leave. The pain was a little overwhelming, and was even affecting my social skills. However, I just knew it would be way too hard for me to succesfully sneak out. Therefore, I was forced to stay the entire time, fighting myself to look and sound normal, as if nothing was bothersome to me.

When I got home, I told Salesi about my situation and said, "I don't want to be in that type of setting again for a long time, or my very broken heart won't ever heal." As for now, I will pick and choose which events I wish to attend. It will be a very personal and private decision, with guidance from prayer and the Holy Ghost. So if you don't happen to see me somewhere, it might or might not be because of my grief!

I know I must come to a point of healing where I can function totally normal in most settings. I will never completely get over my loss. It just won't happen in this life, but to finally feel the healing happening will be a great day. Until then, I will rely on the Savior and know that He knows and understands what I'm going through.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "If she's okay with it one day, she must be okay with it from now on". Just because somebody who has experienced a major loss seems okay with something one day, doesn't mean they will be okay with it from then on. A family of 5, including their little baby, brought us food right after Joshua died. This didn't bother me so much, even though deep down inside I thought it should. Then again, grief is very complex and comes and goes like waves of the sea.

My Car

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

People always tell me how strong I am. I hear it all the time. Even a sister in our ward mentioned it in her testimony last month...at the pulpit. Yes, this did make me just a little uncomfortable. I don't want people to think that about me...more so, I don't want people to think that I think that about me. I understand why they are saying it, but it's hardly true, at least to me, anyway.

To me, I'm just a normal person living my life...and then BOOM, something bad happens. However, bad things happen to people all the time. Yes, you could say that what happened to me is a little bit bigger than the average "bad thing", but I still don't consider my self "so strong".

While we were in the hospital for 3 weeks, everyone would call us or stop by and say, "You two are so strong, I don't know how you do it!" At the funeral, people would say, "You both are so strong, I don't know how you do it!" Well, let me tell you my secret: my car.

My car has become my safe place. My sanctuary. I get inside my car, put my sunglasses on, cover my mouth with one hand (this is in case someone sees me and wonders why my mouth is wide open), and let it all out. I now know what it means to "wail", and I don't say that boastfully.

A perfect example of this happened the other day as I went to Goodyear to help my sister. It was late morning. The same time I used to drive down that exact same freeway every day to be with Joshua in the PICU. As soon as I started approaching the exit for the hospital, it hit me...Joshua's not there. I was overcome with emotions of sadness and despair. However, it was okay...I was safe inside my car! Oh how I love my car! I don't even drive a nice car, but it doesn't matter... That morning, I was able to let it all out, and hold nothing back.

I started wishing he was still in that hospital. Yes, even hooked up to all those ugly machines and being poked only a hundred times each day. I wanted him to be there still, because if he was, then I could at least go and see him, hold his hand, and maybe dream of the one day we would be able to take him home again and finally get back to our "normal life".

After I got a little further down the freeway, my crying naturally slowed down, and I was able to think about what just happened. "He's not in that hospital. It's over. He's gone, and I won't ever be able to find him in that hospital ever again," I told myself.

It's said that tears shed during grieving are different than regular tears. I believe they are more cleansing, and to some people (especially women), are almost an essential part of the grieving process.

If being "strong" means not crying in front of people, then so be it. As for me, I prefer my car anyway.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Not crying means you are super strong." If you don't ever see the griever cry, this doesn't mean they aren't suffering or struggling. Most people wish to grieve extremely private...crawling in their bed under their covers, or in their closest with their door shut. It's not a really bad thing to say, "you are so strong", but please don't think this because you haven't seen them sad. Almost every day I put on a "face" to almost every person I'm around. They would never know the heartache and sick feeling I have unless I told them. And to be honest, I don't care to tell 99% of them.

My Story

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Over and over in my mind I play out the entire story. I start at the beginning. I finish at the end. It starts with giving birth, and ends with me holding a little baby boy that has changed so much from the way I would like to remember him.

For those of you who don't know my story, I will share it with you...

I found out I was pregnant in the beginning of last year. Just like anybody else, I was excited and overwhelmed all at the same time. With the exception of having morning sickness for over half of my pregnancy, everything else was completely normal. I went into labor 5 days early, making the birth date 10-10-10! I chose to have my baby fully natural and had a wonderful labor and delivery experience.

The only setback to our beautiful story thus far, is that our Little Joshua swallowed meconium at birth. Because of this, he was taken to the nursery where he could be closely monitored. While there, he experienced apnea that was longer than usual for a newborn. Therefore, he was then taken to the NICU. We heard different things in the NICU, but the doctor ended up diagnosing him with having "Wet Lung", and released him after a few days.

Finally then, we got to bring our perfect little baby home, anxious and ready to start our new life. We had been home only about 6 short days, when I noticed Baby Joshua felt extremely hot early one morning as I got ready to feed him. Knowing that a fever was very dangerous for a newborn, immediately I called our doctor's office. They told us to take him to the ER as soon as possible. Stressed, but calm that everything would be okay, we took him straight back to St. Joe's, where we had just been the week prior. I was sure they would tell us that we were over-reacting, give him some baby Tylenol, and let us be on our way... God had other plans.

From then on, Joshua only got sicker and sicker. After spending 2 nights in the Pediatric Ward, we felt like our baby was not receiving the care he needed. At this point, we just knew that he had something serious...we could feel it deep down inside. We talked about transferring to Phoenix Children's Hospital, but the doctor assured us that it really wouldn't matter, since all of the specialists were the same. She then asked if we would like to move up to the PICU. We both happily agreed.

Within a few short hours of being transferred to the PICU, our little baby was put on a ventilator, also known as "life support". All that the doctors knew was that he had some type of pneumonia... but which kind, and how he got it, was beyond their imagination.

They started running test after test: daily x-rays, CT scans, MRIs, bronchoscopies, ultrasounds, and eventually even a biopsy of his lung, when nothing else seemed to give answers as to why he was only getting worse. One day the doctor even told us he believed our baby had cancer.

Finally, they thought they found it...the real cause to his severe pneumonia. They discovered candida yeast growing in his lungs, and began treatment immediately. At this time, we had already been there for 2 weeks, and doctors told us it would be at least 3 to 4 additional weeks before we could go home. We were willing to wait.

However, the anticipated recovery never came. It seemed as if the medicine wasn't working. This threw doctors for yet another loop. "Maybe there is something wrong with his immune system", doctors started telling us. They called in another specialist who did 4 more tests. One of which, was for an incredibly rare genetic disorder called Chronic Granulomatous Disease.

Four days later, the doctor told us the test had indeed come back positive for CGD. This was the underlining cause as to why he was not able to fight the yeast infection that had attacked his lungs. How or when he aspirated yeast? We will never know.

By this time, Joshua had become so critically ill that doctors told us his chance of survival was only around 5%. Doctors had upped the dosage of every possible medicine, and even added another breathing machine for more support. His entire body was shutting down, and we knew that at any moment his heart could stop. We had already sat down with doctors to discuss what we would do in case this actually happened.

The next morning, Salesi called to tell me that the nurse wanted both of us at the hospital ASAP. I paced my house back and forth, knowing deep down inside what lay ahead. "This is it, the time has come", I thought. It's very hard to express all of the emotions I then felt rush through my body. Even though I was scared, there seemed to be a sacred feeling surround me. I'm sure there were angels with me, just like there were angels with Joshua ready to escort him to his new home.

I had already made my mind up before we got to the hospital that it was time to let him go. I knew he had suffered enough, and wasn't going to get better. Salesi, on the other hand, had a much harder time with this decision and reality.

We chose to take turns holding him in the rocking chair, still with all of the equipment hooked up and turned on. Our sweet little boy had changed immensely from the little baby we brought into the hospital 3 weeks earlier. His entire body was puffy and very stiff, retaining all liquid. Even the back of his head was swelling rapidly. After a few hours of rocking and singing to our precious son I then took my turn of holding him one last time, as the nurses unplugged all of the equipment that was keeping him alive. He died just a few minutes later.

It's still very hard for me to look at the pictures we took of Joshua's last day on this Earth. I don't wish to remember my son like that. However, looking at those pictures sometimes helps me to understand just what God was thinking when he gave me this trial: I'm much braver than I thought I was. Never would I have ever imagined that I could hold my little baby in my arms and watch him die, but on that day, I was able to do just that.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Everyone wants to talk about their story." This isn't always true. Some people like to talk a lot about details in the beginning, shortly after their loved one has died. This is probably because they are still in a state of numbness. Even though it has now been more than 4 months since Joshua passed, I still have days when talking about his story or even his diagnosis is difficult. I will always try to fight back tears with anyone, other than my husband, who talks to me about Joshua. It also depends on the type of loss and cause of death. Some people might never wish to think about how it happened ever again, but only mention it by using the word, "accident". My best advice is to always be extremely sensitive to anyone who has ever lost a child. Really, this means for the rest of time, since grief is something that is always there, and will come and go like waves of the sea.

This Is My Life

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

I remember back, about a week after Joshua past away, I was walking out to the car to go to church. I was walking very slowly. Not because we had a lot of time to get there, but because it was hard for me to get one foot in front of the other. Things were now starting to sink it. "My son died," I thought. "My son is dead", I thought some more. "All I have to do is endure and I will be okay. Once I get through Sunday School, it will be Relief Society. I'm not particularly fond of Relief Society... so this might be the tough one... but then it will be Sacrament Meeting, and then it will be time to go home." The next day as I got on the computer to check my email I thought, "I can endure... I can endure each day until this hard thing is over and then I can get on with my life." Boy was I wrong. Horribly wrong.

Enduring isn't about trying to rush through hard things and get them over with so we can get on with our lives. Enduring is about living in the here and now. Accepting that trials will always be a part of our lives. The death of my son will always be a part of my life. Trials will always be a part of my life. This is now my life.

I also realized that enduring life isn't just about putting one foot in front of the other and telling yourself that you can get through one more meeting, but it's about enjoying life, the here and now. Life is short, too short. The death of our loved ones should be a constant reminder of the briefness of this earthly journey.

An example of this is what I thought about as Salesi and I drove home from our anniversary date last night. As we drove down the freeway, I thought to myself..."We could be hit by a car right now and both be completely gone. Our death plus our son's death would swipe our family off this Earth. There would be no more of us, our little family." This might sound morbid to some, but for me, it helped get a sense of just how short our lives really are. None of us know the exact time of when our Earthly Life is over, but I think it's fair to say, that in less than 100 years, we will all be gone.

"Some think of enduring to the end of simply suffering through challenges. It is so much more than that--It is the process of coming unto Christ, and being perfected in Him". This is a quote by Joseph B. Worthlin. I really like this, and it totally hits the nail head on. Since the passing of my son, there are many days when I find myself involved in deep meditation. I ponder the purpose of my life, the purpose of my son's life, and how it all fits together. I contemplate our missions, and the plan that was revealed to us before we even came here to Earth.

When life is hard, it seems as if even doing the smallest things are almost impossible. Even kneeling down to say a prayer feels like it would require way too too much effort. If I force myself to pray, however, I usually always feel better. It seems as if I'm immediately blessed with strength beyond my own. This strength can only come from a loving Father in Heaven who knows us perfectly, and a Savior who has already felt everything and anything we could possibly ever feel.

As I do the little things daily, (read, pray, and obey) it seems as if the Holy Ghost can teach me what I need to know. Answers are poured into my mind to some of my hardest questions. I have a greater desire to do good, and my desire to do evil lessens. This must be the real meaning of enduring to the end and coming unto Christ.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "Life only gets better and easier as time goes on". This might be true in the grand scheme of things, but right after a serious loss, life indeed only gets worse for some time. One big loss causes smaller losses, and then you have even more on your plate than you did before. It takes a while for everything to really penetrate. Feelings of doubt, misbelief, guilt, anger, jealousy, and fear take a while to sink in and this easily causes other issues with relationships, jobs, and self image.

No I Don't Want To Hold Your Baby

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi
At our Annual Ward Chili Cook-off a couple of weeks ago, Salesi asked me something that will forever stay in my mind, "You wanna hold the baby?" I yelled back with a dirty look on my face, "What? No, of course I don't want to hold the baby! Are you out of your mind! Why would you ask me that!?" He told me that he "felt bad" for a sister in our ward who was sitting all by herself with her newborn. I thought to myself, "Do you not feel bad for your wife who is without a newborn?" Within a few minutes, however, there were plenty of eager baby-lovers lining up to hold the infant.

Not long ago, I remember my sister telling me of a friend who loves to hold babies that are the same age of her infant who passed away. Well that is her, and she's not me. Everyone grieves differently. Not only do I not care to hold little babies, but I don't care to have much to do with expectant mothers either. Seeing little babies and pregnant women give me a very sick feeling and an awful pain in my stomach. This is not always the case, but usually it is. This makes it very hard when 2 of my sisters are pregnant right now. One of which, will be having her baby any day. I haven't said anything to her, but I hope that she's not planning on that congratulations call from me when her new baby arrives.

I know some of you might be thinking that I sound a little angry and jealous. Well you're absolutely right. Anger is one of the main components of the grieving process. Does it make me angry to see pictures on facebook of friends holding their new babies? Yes. Does it make me jealous to hear about a friend who just found out she is pregnant? Yes. Will I avoid you if you have a little baby? Sadly, the answer is yes.

Today I was faced with a dilemma. I had been invited to a baby shower for a friend. I knew that I had 3 options: Go and pretend like I was super thrilled for her to have a new baby boy; Not go and come up with a good lie; Or not go and tell the truth. If I went, I knew I would have to not only paste on my smile but also make lots of oohs and awes. This might make me feel like vomiting. If I chose to lie, however, I would feel bad about it. If I told the truth, I would make my friend feel bad about it. I knew I didn't want to take away from her happiness of having a new baby. You see, I don't want to be angry and jealous. I pray that these horrible feelings will leave me very soon, but in the mean time, I have to be careful so that I don't cause more pain to my very broken heart.

After much thinking and praying about this recent baby shower situation, I called a friend for one last piece of advice. She also happens to be a part of this very crappy club. She said that I can't keep "picking at my scab" or it will never heal! A baby shower just isn't the place for me right now, and might not be the place for me for a very long time.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "If you lose a baby, you will find peace and joy in holding someone else's baby." This might be true for some, but not all. Remember, everyone grieves differently! Therefore, it is so important to be sensitive around those who have just lost someone, especially a baby. If at all possible, don't flaunt your pregnant belly or bring your baby with you to the same places where she will be, unless you absolutely have to. If you are ever unsure that you might be doing something that's causing pain to the grieving mother, ask her. I know that I really appreciate emails or private messages on facebook. That way, I can be completely honest and not have to worry about emotions and awkward immediate responses getting in the way. It gives the 2 parties time to think and ponder about how to say things the best.

I Understand

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

During the midst of deep despair and heartache, we long for someone's understanding. Anyone's. What we don't long for, is understanding of those who really don't understand. Please let me explain.

Not long ago, I visited with a friend. Quickly the topic became one regarding Joshua. She told me that she understood what I was going through because she cried immensely when she heard the news of his passing. I wasn't sure how to respond to this. Honestly I was a little stumped, thinking my ears might need a check-up. Astonished that someone would say that to me, I quickly said the only thing I could get out of my dumb-founded mouth: "I don't think I could ever say to someone 'I understand', because everyone's situation is so different."

Not only was her situation different, but it was completely opposite I would have to say. You see, instead of her baby being dead, her baby (born only a month before Joshua) was alive, healthy, and sleeping on the very same floor where I placed my feet.

If there's one thing I've noticed with being a grieving parent, it's that everyone else around you believes that they themselves need time to grieve as well. I'm not saying that my friends should show no sign of sadness, but let's remember just whose loss it is, shall we.

Many people will come to your house only to fill the air with words, and nothing else. And in most cases (but not all), this does no good for the griever. In the beginning, they come over with sad looks on their faces and tears in their eyes in hopes that you will cry with them. It's almost as if you, the griever, is now the comforter. I've been in this circumstance countless times as my well-meaning sister will call me, obviously having been crying, wanting to talk with me about Joshua. However, whenever she happens to call me, I'm just not in the mood to cry. If I really was in the mood to cry over my loss, I would hang up the phone, lock my doors, and climb into bed where I could be alone.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "If you say I understand to someone who has just suffered a serious loss, this will make them feel much better." Reality check: There is no possible way that you could understand how they are feeling, since you have never experienced that type of loss. Even if you have lost a child, please remember that every person's situation is individual.

Another tip for the ungrieving: If you are to visit someone who is experiencing a terrible loss, bring them food or a meal that they might need; Give them money to help with funeral/hospital expenses; Offer to wash their car or scrub their toilet; Take young children to a park for a few hours! I personally couldn't stand most of the visits we got right after Joshua died! We were so busy trying to plan the funeral, that having people over constantly to visit with us, was so NOT helpful! I really appreciated a sister in our ward who called me beforehand to ask when a good time would be to come and visit. I also appreciated people who came by to just drop off food or flowers but not stay longer than a few minutes. My phone rang continually the 3 days after he passed away, and I tried to tell people to please come the following week (after the funeral) but most people didn't listen! Whatever you do, however, just DO SOMETHING, but please don't say "I Understand"!

The Co-Sleeper

By Kaci Goodrich Uipi

Last night as I walked around my bed to get into it to go to sleep, I glanced over at the space between my dresser and armoire. This space is now used for the extra pillows from our bed, and occasionally the junk that we want to get out of our living room. What used to be in this space, however, was the little crib we used to put Joshua in for bedtime.

When my sister came to visit last Summer, she brought some baby stuff for me that she didn't need anymore. Some of which were used-items that I myself had given her the previous year, so you can only imagine the quality of these items... or lack of. Probably the only nice thing that I was excited about getting to use was the co-sleeper. She mentioned to me that it had already been used by her 2 kids, and even a cousin, but it still looked pretty good to me. It wasn't long before I asked Salesi to set it up in our bedroom. I wanted to make sure it worked and fit in the space I had chosen. After Salesi set it up, I filled the bottom with diapers and tried to figure out how to make the "mattress" more comfortable for a little baby. I then waited patiently a couple more months before I could place a real baby in it to test it out.

When we brought home our 3 day-old Joshua Wednesday evening from the hospital, I still wasn't sure if the co-sleeper would be "co-zy" enough for him. I put him in pajamas, and instead placed him in the little swing we had set up in our living room. Immediately he fell asleep. Later that evening as it became dark, I knew I needed to move him into our room and try out the co-sleeper. To me, however, it just looked so hard and un-welcoming for an infant. Salesi folded an extra blanket and placed it in the co-sleeper to add more padding. This seemed to be the answer. I don't remember exactly how Baby Joshua slept his first night in his new home, but I believe he did pretty well, only waking up a couple of times to eat and then drifting right back to sleep.

From that night on, Salesi's on-going project was to make the co-sleeper as comfortable as he could for Baby Joshua. Every time I gently put Joshua down to sleep, (hoping he wouldn't wake up) I noticed something different about the co-sleeper. Usually there was a "nest" made up of rolled towels and blankets. Salesi kept telling me, "He needs to feel like he is with someone... if he feels all alone in his crib, he won't sleep!" I soon realized that this actually was true. Some nights if I only but kept my hand on his little chest after I lay him down, he continued to sleep peacefully. Another trick that Salesi had, was to make sure his little NICU friend was with him at all times. He liked to place him barely over his head so Joshua could feel that someone was with him, even if that someone was a beany baby bear.

Now that little crib, the co-sleeper, is gone. I left it up for as long as I could, but I knew the day would come when my sister needed it back. Even when I cleaned up most everything else that belonged to Joshua, I left the co-sleeper exactly where we had it: between the dresser and armoire. A couple of weeks following his death, and even after that, I attempted to remove the ducky blanket from the co-sleeper and put it away... but I just couldn't do it. Sure enough, my sister eventually did ask to have the co-sleeper back and then I was "forced" to put away that little ducky blanket with Joshua's scent. To me, it was slightly a painful request, asking to get rid of the little bed where Joshua slept each night. I knew that I couldn't fight it, and needed to hand it over.

Misconception of the ungrieving world: "People will eventually get over their loss, and move on with life." Yes, life does go on, but it seems at times, it goes on without us. There are days when time stands still, as we can only remember the passing of our loved one. We pay no attention to the day, the time, or month. In the deep and dark moments, we only feel the pain, and nothing else. We will never "get over" our loss, but hopefully learn to adjust our life to it. The pain will always be there, but will just come less frequent, and hopefully not as strong. Never assume when or if a grieving person is over their loss. Never assume it's the right time to take down the co-sleeper.