Adam is still alive. The whole New Year's celebration seems so silly to me. Doesn't the world know my son is fighting for his life? There is nothing to celebrate. The neurologist comes into his room. It is a very somber place now. Crystal asks the question I didn't want to know the answer to ... what is his survival rate? The doctor hesitates to answer. In my mind, I'm thinking "please don't let her say anything below 50%". She looks at us and says 3%. I was not prepared for that answer. How can he beat those odds? In my heart, I knew my moments with my son were numbered. I stopped watching monitors. I didn't care what his levels were. I memorized every line on his face, every freckle, every crease... I studied it until it was burned into my brain. I spoke to him. I told him what a great son he was; how very much I loved him; how proud I was of him. And I promised him I would always look after Andrew and make sure he never wanted for anything. The pain in my heart was enormous. But God's love filled that room. He was there. He held me up.