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I have written this story countless times in my head over the last year, long before thinking of beginning a blog. I narrate silently, as if some unknown reader will someday unfold my inner mind and care to see my thoughts. My memory is fallible, I well know, so now I write with physical hands.   Adam. Our son. We knew his name before we knew he was a boy. It was so Right. No other name could fit our firstborn so solidly, so perfectly. We watched his heartbeat on the ultrasound with such joy. He was real! He was inside me. He was growing.   We were nervous when we first decided to start trying for a child. Would we make good parents, would we know what to do? Wisdom is a precious thing. But then, so soon, we were pregnant and these questions became all the more immediate. We took the quick timing as a good sign. This pregnancy was blessed and all would go well.   Two weeks before Christmas, 2012, a specialist gave us bad news. Adam’s bladder was enlarged due to a blockage, little or nothing was passing through. Later tests revealed his kidneys were suffering from the back flow. They would have little or no function by time he would be born. His lungs would be underdeveloped from the lack of amniotic fluid his bladder was hoarding. If he somehow survived, he would need a transplant when he turned one. He wouldn’t be big enough…