"Bernard?"

"Too old-school."

"Connor?"

"Too close to 'con artist.'"

"Fair. Farren?"

"No."

"Atreyu."

"Like the kid from 'The NeverEnding Story'?"

"Exactly, like the kid from 'The NeverEnding Story.'"

"Interesting."

"Interesting like you'll actually name your kid Atreyu?"

"No."

We were huddled together, my whole family, suggesting names for my cousin's pending progeny. The tiny tyke is due in January, and the name debate was heavily contested over a week of turkey leftovers.

It was some time during one of these many name debates that my mom called me over for a chat. She had volunteered in a genome study and had discovered she is a carrier of a few scary genetic mutations, one of which is a degenerative disorder that causes blindness. This was of particular interest because a year ago, my son was discovered to be legally blind in one eye. Over a handful of specialists later and we still don't know the exact cause and certainly don't know a solution. If there is one. This genetic abnormality would give us an answer, albeit a horrifying one: total blindness.

I had scheduled an appointment at a children's hospital near my parents' house to meet with pediatric ophthalmologists. Such exams have become routine in our otherwise lovely family visits. The doctor concluded that if my mom's genetic abnormality were X-linked, we would have reason to worry. If not, the odds would be very low. We had to wait to hear back from the study.

Waiting stinks. Inappropriate humor makes waiting easier.

The baby name suggestions altered to Isla (EYE'-luh) and CiCi (SEE'-see). "Three Blind Mice" may have been sung in a three-part round. More than once. Speaking of, those blind mice never let complete blindness stop them. As the song goes, "see how they run! See how they run!" They are basically the Usain Bolt of the Rodent Special Olympics. In fact, I heard they give out gold medals at the first doctor's appointment when you receive the "bad" news. Wheaties box, here we come! And my kid will get a cane. Who doesn't love a cane? They come in sugar and in candy. Canes are used not only to help the blind feel their way around but also by Santa Claus to physically assault psychiatrists in "Miracle on 34th Street" and by Samuel L. Jackson in "Unbreakable." And who doesn't want to be like Samuel L. Jackson? There are also the cool shades. We'll have to buy stock in Ray-Ban.

Look, it's ridiculous. All of it. But occupying the mind in the absurd is far more welcome than spiraling into the five stages of grief. Spiraling would be easy, too. 2016 has been a particularly sub-par year. Among my closest of loved ones — including the crazy cousin discussing terrible baby name options — we have had two serious bouts of cancer. They're still fighting the good fight. There have been disease diagnoses and hospital visits and stitches and broken bones. There have been demotions and demoralizing life changes. Finding out my son might lose his vision altogether just seemed par for the course of 2016. John Oliver would agree.

But we do what we can. So we listened to Third Eye Blind and Blind Melon. We ate our weight in gnocchi, which my little brother always pronounced "no-see." And we questioned whether his possible genetic mutation would make him an X-Man by Professor X's standards. We talked about blind things that are wonderful, such as blind taste tests, and how love is blind. We made poor jokes to pass the time. It wasn't civilized. It was survival.

My mom got the results back. The degenerative genetic mutation she carries is not X-linked. Odds of my son's having it are slim to none.

My son is legally blind in one eye. And that stinks. But he isn't going to lose his vision altogether. It could've been worse. Luckily, this time it wasn't.

The ocular drama temporarily over, I texted my cousin.

"How about Auryn?" I asked.

"Like the amulet in 'The NeverEnding Story'?"

"Exactly, like the amulet in 'The NeverEnding Story.'"

"Why are you so stuck on this book reference for my kid's name?"

"Because books may end but stories don't. Life goes on."

"Interesting," my cousin said.

"Interesting like you'll name him Auryn?"

"No."

I bet Samuel L. Jackson would have.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.