Distractions

Infertility creates a lot of negative thoughts. So to prevent them from eating me up whole, I try to distract myself.

This weekend, I rearranged the photos in my bedroom to make room for a few new pieces (a picture I got the Mr. for our dating anniversary and a bulletin board I bought to use for my pretty costume jewelry).

I had the Mr. spackle and paint and then, when everything was dry, I put up the pictures and bulletin board.

I think it came out pretty nice and it was good to have a few worry-free hours...

Counting My Blessings

Some people see Labor Day as the unofficial last day of summer. I see it as the unofficial first day of fall. And the Mr. and I love fall...

Last year's owl pumpkin... Now, what we should do this year?

Some of our fondest memories took place in the fall. We shared our first "I love you" at the end of our first October together; got engaged a few years later in November; and got married the following October.

Last year's Thanksgiving pie was such a hit that I plan to make it again this year.

But there are other things we love about this beautiful season. For the Mr., fall means football all day on Sundays and his favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. For me, it means apple-picking, pumpkin-carving, pie-baking and watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown."

Fall is also when the new school year starts which, to me, always meant a new beginning, a fresh start... Here's hoping that our fertility treatments work and there's a new beginning this fall...

What I Want (A Short Rant)

I want to stop crying every time I find out someone I know is pregnant. I can't help it. It's just a knee-jerk reaction. I know I should feel happy for them. But whenever someone says, "I have something to tell you," I get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach because I already know what it is. Then I feel this ache in my heart and and my mind immediately thinks something along the lines of, "I've been trying to get pregnant longer than they've been married," or "In all the time I've been trying to get pregnant, they've managed to get pregnant twice." Followed by "This is not fair." It's probably better that other people break the news to me instead of the expecting couple because I would image my uncontrollable sobbing would be very jarring to the expecting couple.

I want to stop feeling miserable around pregnant women. It's gotten to a point that I try to avoid pregnant women so that I don't have to pretend to be happy around them. Because pretending to be happy for more than five minutes is exhausting. Is this crazy? Probably. But in reality, being around pregnant women just makes feel me feel horribly, deeply sad.

This is mostly because I want to be pregnant. I want to feel my daughter or son growing inside of me. I want to give them one of the awesome names the Mr. and I have already chosen. I want to stay up for late night feedings and sing lullabies to soothe them when they're teething. I want to be the first one they run to when they scratch their knees. I want to watch Disney movies with them and take them to the park and play with them. I want to hear them say, "I love you, Mommy."

Lastly, I want to believe that I will get pregnant soon. It's a good thing that I have people in my life who remind me to have faith, like my thoughtful sister-in-law who sent me a note and small St. Gerard token or the sweet friend who shared a sermon with me called, "The God Who Breaks Our Heart." When I'm having those difficult "I don't think it's ever going to happen" days, it's good to have those reminders (and supporters).

Crowdfunding a Baby

I graduated from film school and worked in production for a few years, so I know a thing or two about crowdfunding sites like Indiegogo and Kickstarter... But now I hear that more and more couples are turning to crowdfunding for their fertility treatments and adoption fees. I'm really not sure how I feel about that.

Yes, I know how costly infertility treatments can be when your insurance doesn't cover them. My first round of IUI with Clomid just set me back $375. If I do that six times (as some insurance companies require six rounds of IUI before they cover IVF), it would cost $2,250. And don't even get me started on the costs of IVF (which my current insurance does not cover)...

So, out of curiosity,  I looked at sites like GiveForward and KrowdKidz, but I was thoroughly disappointed by the donation numbers I saw (a lot of $0 raised or nowhere near being fully funded). However, AdoptTogether seemed much more successful. I'm trying to figure out why that is... Is it because couples don't want to share their fertility treatments via social media and expand their reach? Is it because people feel weird helping to pay for IVF treatments, but okay with helping them adopt? Is it because IVF is like a coin toss and you have a 50/50 chance of getting pregnant, which is kind of a risky investment? Anyone know?

Also, with the Mr. and I now deciding to go radio silent on the details of our fertility treatments, I don't think he would allow me to start a crowdfunding page for us and share it on Facebook.

Of course, right now, we're still pretty early in the process and don't need to do something like that, but who knows what the future holds?

Counting My Blessings

A day at the (French) fair

I had never been to Governor's Island before, but this past weekend, the Mr. and I finally went. We took the (free!) ferry from Brooklyn so we could experience Fete Paradiso, a traveling festival of vintage French carnival rides. We were just two big kids who enjoyed the various carousels, including a bicycle carousel from 1892 - one of only two in the world (the other was featured in Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris). But we couldn't handle the jerking around of the dragon roller coaster (it was fun, but I felt like I was getting bruised). We ate a lovely lunch (I had a crepe and french fries, the Mr. had a chicken sausage and french fries) while listening to a woman sing Edith Piaf songs. And did I mention the weather was perfect (blue skies and in the high 70s)? We couldn't have had a better day...

Sex, Lies & Infertility

I'm a pretty honest person. I always try to say what I mean and mean what I say... Unfortunately, there are times when this isn't socially acceptable.

I was at a bridal shower this past weekend when the topic of my sister-in-law's pregnancy came up. I felt trapped as they talked about what they think the baby's gender would be, how the doctor said he was 99% sure and how exciting it all is. They then moved on to talk about how their hair dresser got married in February and must have gotten pregnant on her wedding night because she announced she was pregnant two weeks later. As much as I wanted to say, "Please shut up because the Mr. and I have been trying to get pregnant longer than any of these people have been married and it's killing me that I'm still not pregnant yet," I didn't. It would have been rude and put a damper on the festivities.

Telling people the truth makes them feel uncomfortable. I know because I've told people the truth before. A friend of the Mr. asked me at a wedding last year when the Mr. and I would be getting on the baby train. I was so annoyed that he asked that I told him point blank that we've been trying for over a year, that I even had surgery and nothing. Needless to say, it shut him up quick.

Most people don't know how to deal with our whole infertility thing. It's foreign territory to them. Either they don't want kids yet (so they're still in the avoiding pregnancy stage of life) or it was so easy for them to get pregnant they're just shocked it's not easy for everyone else. It's also extremely personal because it makes people think about your sex life and, as far as polite conversation goes, you should always avoid talking about religion, politics and sex.

Obviously, whether I tell you the whole truth or not depends on how close we are. My mom knows a lot and so do a handful of friends. One friend and I have gotten to the point of texting each other when we find out someone we know is pregnant. We can express our hurt and frustration to each other without appearing like lepers or Wicked Witches of the East to anyone else. 

Strangers are another story. When we were on vacation in Turks & Caicos, hotel employees and other guests would find out that the Mr. and I have been married for four years and they'd inevitably ask if we have children? They didn't really care. They just want to see if we fit in to the social norm. We were forced to answer no, we do not have children. They'd then answer one of two ways: "You'd better get on that..." (and go on about the joys of parenthood) or "Enjoy it while it lasts..." (and go on about the pains of parenthood).

Luckily, I was prepared for this. I had recently read a post by a fellow childless blogger who went to get a manicure and the manicurist cried when she found out that this woman didn't have any children. The manicurist felt sadness and pity for this woman because she (the manicurist) thought having children was the best thing that ever happened her. I didn't want to feel that pity. I was on vacation and wanted to get away from the stigma of infertility.

So I would just nod and smile and say we have to go to somewhere (whether we actually did or didn't). And I think I'll continue to do that in the future because sometimes a little lying is the only way no one ends up feeling bad... including me.

Counting My Blessings

This past week, the Mr. and I had a much needed vacation in Turks & Caicos. We stayed at the Gansevoort, got a couples massage, had a few piña coladas at Somewhere (our new favorite beach bar), worked out and sunbathed by the pool...

We took long walks along the beach...

We watched the beautiful sun set...

And we enjoyed the stars from our ocean view terrace...

Since we're starting our infertility treatments soon, the time away really helped us clear our heads, reflect on our journey and relax a bit. It was just what we needed and I am so grateful that we had the time (and the money) to take such a wonderful vacation.

What I've Learned...

Infertility hasn't been an easy journey, but I'd like to think it has taught me a few things...

Life is not fair. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. People who would make awful parents have children (ahem, Casey Anthony, ahem). And people who would be the absolute best parents remain childless. This must be why almost every language has a way of saying, "That's life..." ("Asi es la vida,""C'est la vie," etc.)

Always have a plan B. Also, a plan C and a plan D won't hurt either... My plan A was to have a baby naturally. Since there's a very slim chance of that happening, I've moved on to plan B, which is fertility treatments so we can try to have a baby who is genetically our own. If that doesn't work by the beginning of 2015, I want to move on to plan C, which is adoption. (The thing about domestic newborn adoption is that married, college-educated couples in their 20s and 30s typically have a shorter wait, so I don't want to wait until we're in our 40s to try for adoption.) Of course, if plan C doesn't pan out in a year, I think we should move on to plan D, which is to live our lives without children of our own. It's good to know when to move on or when to stop trying completely, at least for our own sanity.

Forgiveness. People have said a lot of hurtful things to me whether they intended to or not. Holding onto that hurt is like drinking small amounts of acid everyday and letting it eat you up from the inside out until you're eventually nothing. This is not a good way to live. Whether or not I've received an apology, I have had to forgive people and learn to let go. It's not easy, but I do feel better when I honestly forgive others.

Not to look at Facebook when I'm having a bad day. Chances are someone I know is posting a picture of their ultrasound or their daily status update about some adorably cute/disgusting thing their child did that they think no other child has done before. I don't want to feel worse about being childless, but I can't de-friend them and I can't hide them. If I did, the only things that would appear on my newsfeed would be George Takei and Grumpy Cat. So I just avoid Facebook on those days and nobody gets hurt.

I'm the only one who can give my life meaning. No child can do that. No husband either. So I keep making plans. I go to concerts, movies, museums, etc. I spoil the kids that are actually in my life. I work. I workout. I travel. I write. It's these little things that matter. It's these little things that make up a life.

Counting My Blessings

It's hard to count my blessings when I feel more cursed than blessed, but I have to remind myself that I have a a lot to be thankful for, specifically:

My friends. One gave me this advice: "Take what you're going through and make it beautiful." I think it is the best advice anyone has ever given me and it's what drives me to keep writing. Another is planning a spa day so we can get massages and de-stress. And all of them have offered to listen whenever and never judge.

Boyfriends jeans because they are super comfortable when I'm feeling bloated.

And the fact that Royal Baby Watch is now over!

3 Percent

I hear the doctor say 3 percent. That's my chance of getting pregnant naturally each month. 3 percent.

It feels like a movie where everything slows down and you see the doctor's lips moving, but you can't hear a sound. Except for the echoing of 3 percent. 3 percent. 3 percent.

I didn't think it would be so low. I thought the lowest it could be was 20 percent. Maybe 15 percent. But not 3 percent.

I'm under 35. I'm pretty healthy. I do yoga and eat fruits and vegetables. My ovaries function properly. My fallopian tubes are "anatomically perfect." I'm a moderate drinker (in no way, shape or form a lush). I've never done drugs or smoked. Heck, I don't even drink coffee! And yet I have a 3 percent chance of getting pregnant?

What's wrong with us? No one knows. We seem to fall into the small group of couples with unexplained infertility.

I can't cry. I refuse to cry. I know I need to keep it together so I can hear the other numbers he tells me... 8 percent chance of getting pregnant with pills and IUI... 20 percent with injectibles and IUI... 50 percent with IVF...

I ask the next practical question: What are the costs since my current insurance plan only covers diagnosis and not treatment? $350 for each IUI... Up to $4,000 for injectibles... $10,000+ for IVF...

More numbers that make me feel helpless.

I don't know what exactly I was hoping would come out of this. Maybe I was hoping I would get more answers. Maybe I was hoping that we'd be able to take the next steps faster. Maybe I was hoping that I'd know for sure that at the end of this process I would have a baby in my arms. But, right now, all I have are more questions and more feelings of uncertainty...

But 3 percent? Well, to paraphrase The Hunger Games, the odds are definitely not in my favor. And that's kind of hard for me to process.

Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones...

I wish I could say that words will never hurt me, but they do, especially when it comes to my infertility. People just don't know any better. They're awkward around you or they don't know what to say, but they feel they need to say something.

Since there's no etiquette handbook on what to say to couples dealing with infertility, I've decided to share some of the worst things people have said to me (What Not to Say) and what I think would be a better alternative (What to Say Instead). Here goes...

What Not to Say: "I know what you're going through."
Unless you spent over two years trying to get pregnant with no such luck, you do not know what I'm going through. You do not know the frustration of doing uncomfortable tests only to find out that there's nothing physically wrong with you or your spouse. You do not know the pain of seeing everyone else get pregnant around you. You don't know the constant feeling of emptiness when you're unable to conceive month after month. You simply do not know.
What to Say Instead: "I don't know what you're going through, but I'm sure it must be difficult."

What Not to Say: "Have you tried [the Secret, acupuncture, etc.]?"
Well, I've tried legs up the wall, surgery to remove a rather large cyst on my left ovary, ovulation kits, voodoo charms from New Orleans, a fertility blanket made by a friend and a St. Gerard charm in my bible (I am Catholic after all)... None of these things have worked. I don't need anymore advice. I need a shoulder to cry on. I need someone to listen to me vent. I need someone to make me laugh and feel like a normal human being once in a while.
What to Say Instead: "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you."

What Not to Say: "Maybe the two of you aren't compatible in that way."
(This has actually been said to me more than once by people who are sincerely trying to be helpful.) You probably watched some special episode of Dr. Oz and think that this is a medical possibility, but I'm not going to trade in my good husband for one that has sperm that might be more compatible with my eggs. He's a good husband who has said he will stay with me––child or no child. He loves me that much.
What to Say Instead: Since this kind of falls along giving advice, an "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you" will suffice.

What Not to Say: "It'll happen in God's time." / "It's God's plan."
I know you're thinking I don't have faith or that I don't believe in God and trying to get me to turn to Him. But I do believe and I've prayed to Him every single night for over two years to get pregnant and have a healthy baby. But I still don't have a baby and I'm not pregnant. If my answer from God is no child, then it confirms my very worst fear that God does not want me and my husband to have a child. This is a horrible, horrible feeling.
What to Say Instead: If you want to talk about God, "God's given you a lot of strength; I know you'll be okay." / If not, "It'll be okay."

What Not to Say: "I know your time will come." / "I know you'll get pregnant someday."
Can you see into the future? Do you talk one-on-one to God? Will you give us the money we'll need to go through multiple IVF treatments or the adoption process in order to have a baby? No? Then you don't know. You may think I'm not thinking positive or that I've lost all hope. But I'm not without hope. I'm being realistic. There are no guarantees. I'd like it to happen, but I don't know if it will and you don't really know either. Let's not kid ourselves.
What to Say Instead: "I'm hoping / praying that you get pregnant soon." (And just so you know, my response would be: "Me too.")

What Not to Say: "If / When you have children..." / "You're not her / his parent."
(To be fair, this was said in an argument with a very overprotective parent, but it still hurt like hell considering this parent knows all too well what the Mr. and I are going through.) Believe me, I am fully aware that I am not your child's parent. I am aware that I am no one's parent and that I may never be any one's parent. I live with that everyday of my life. I don't need you to remind me.
What to Say Instead: Never say anything like this unless you want to make an infertile woman cry.

So, be sensitive to women who are childless not by choice and be careful with what you say to them... Especially me. Because if you say something that hurts my feelings, it may end up on my blog!   :o)

The Only Thing Constant in Life Is Change

Like most people, I don't like change. This weekend, there were two changes that made me cry.

The first was my dry cleaner... He's closing his shop to retire. As a local business store owner, he was someone I always looked forward to seeing - always smiling and always remembered my name and my clothes. The Mr. and I went into his shop to say goodbye. And my dry cleaner, with his broken English and warm smile, bowed to us and said, "Have a nice every day." We wished him the same, walked out of his shop for the last time and I began to cry because, quite frankly, I'm going to miss this kind man.

The second was learning that American Girl was going to discontinue Molly, their WWII-era doll, who looked a lot like me as a little girl, with her long brown pigtails and wire glasses. You're probably thinking to yourself Why would you cry about that? It's just a stupid doll. And I know it is, but I had always imagined buying her for my little girl some day and with her being discontinued, it seemed like I would never have that chance. The Mr. and my mother did not thinking that I was being stupid and encouraged me to buy her to hold on to her for my little girl.

Funny enough, buying her and imagining my daughter playing with her gave me a bit of hope again, which is I'm scared about going to NYU Fertility Center next week. I'm scared that the treatments won't work and that we'll lose our minds and our savings trying to have a child. This is the one time in my life where I desperately want things to change, and where I'm more scared about them staying the same.

Counting My Blessings

An unexpected mid-year bonus to put toward our vacation... It's nice when hard work gets noticed.

Blueberry crisp with organic vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day... Yum!

Puppies! Especially this one name Shaggy... He makes me wish my landlord allowed pets in our apartment.

The Rainbow Connection

In all my 33 years living in New York City, I've never seen a rainbow...

For the Fourth of July weekend, the Mr. and I decided to skip out on some festivities with his family. This was not an easy decision for us and it was made even more difficult by the initial grief and guilt-tripping we were met with––the most popular being "Think about the family."

Hearing this pissed me off because we always think about the family (his family most of the time)... We spent our first Valentine's Day as a married couple at his cousin's son's baptism. Our first wedding anniversary at his brother's home for his 30th birthday. We've also worked it out so that Thanksgiving and Christmas are evenly distributed amongst my mom and his parents. I'm glad that we've been able to share in those holidays and important life events and I wouldn't change a thing, but I do wish everyone would realize that Mr. and I are thinking of the family––our little family of two. And that our feelings matter too.

As much as the Mr. and I love our families, they have all (at one time or another) said something that's really upset me (or the Mr.). This is a major reason why the Mr. and I tend not to display all of our feelings or share all that is actually going on. Personally, I'm afraid of the words I'll be met with (more on what not to say to someone going through infertility in a future post). Yes, I know they love us and they're trying to show their support, but the whole "think about the family" thing was one of the worst things that I could hear.

This is why, on July 3 after a particularly emotionally draining day and a torrential downpour, it was so wonderful to see a rainbow in the city. I'd been sad and frustrated and angry for quite some time, but seeing that rainbow, I felt for the first time in a long while like God was speaking to me. That He was saying, "Everything will be okay. No matter what happens, you'll be okay." And those were the only words I wanted (and needed) to hear.

Rainbow over the West Village

Counting My Blessings

Going through infertility has taken a toll on my mental health and, apparently, I'm not alone. Research shows that infertile women tend to experience levels of anxiety and depression similar to those of women with cancer or HIV.

So, taking some inspiration from Cupcakes and Cashmere's "Five Things", I've decided to count my blessings at least once a week to help lift my spirits.

This week, I feel blessed that...

The Mr. and I went to see two of The Hitchcock 9 (the 9 recently restored surviving silent films from director Alfred Hitchcock). This was a real treat because there was a live five-piece orchestra at both screenings and because I'm a HUGE Hitchcock fan.

Programs from The Hitchcock 9

We spent a perfect Fourth of July in Peekskill, NY with friends who truly know what we're going through (as they've been going through the same thing for years). We drank. We ate. We talked. And we watched a beautiful sunset and fireworks show.

Sunset in Peekskill (taken by the Mr.)

I've received a lot of love and support lately, but my mom staying on the phone with me after one particularly crazy day because she "heard it in my voice" meant a lot to me.

Bumps, Babies and Black Sheep

Infertility sucks! And it only gets worse every day, every month and every year that passes without getting pregnant. Until (so I hear) you let go and things slowly start to get better. I'm not at the point of letting go yet, so everything still feels fresh and painful, like an open wound.

Since I don't want to put salt in that wound, I try to avoid pregnant bellies. Quite frankly, it hurts way more to be around pregnant women than it does to be around children. This one may be hard for most people to understand (especially all the Fertile Myrtles out there), but I'll try to explain.

There's a mix of emotions. I'm jealous because I wish I was pregnant. And I'm sad because seeing a baby bump reminds me of my lack of one. But there's also a feeling that I'm being pitied because I'm childless not by choice (which obviously comes more from people I know than from people I don't know). And I don't want to be pitied.

Luckily, I have a great group of friends who, though they haven't gone through infertility, just get it. I recently had dinner with one who is in her mid-thirties and unmarried. She feels the same way I do when she gets looks of pity from the smug marrieds in her life. Who wants to be pitied? It makes us feel like outsiders. And who wants to feel like an outsider?

For the record, the Mr. and I already feel like outsiders in so many other aspects of our lives compared to our siblings - what with our city lifestyle, the fact that we rent vs. own, our love of movies that goes way deeper than anyone else in our families (we must sound like aliens to them when we begin to argue about Paul Thomas Anderson)... And now that we're going to be the only ones without children, we'll officially be the black sheep.

Now, being around children can also be excruciatingly painful, especially when you're surrounded by lots and lots of them. I actually had a nervous breakdown on the way to my niece's communion and started crying during her and my nephew's talent show when another little girl sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow. (Not one of my proudest moments...)

But one on one, I really love being around children (that's why I want to have a couple of my own). The world they know is so innocent and so simple. "Do you want to play with me?" That's it. No pity. No deep conversation. Just playing. "Let's brush my doll's hair." Okay. "Let's color." Sure. "Let's go down the slide a million times." Why not?

With pregnant women, it takes about nine months or so for my wounds to heal and to not feel so bad around them... With children, how can I even think of all my grown-up problems when we're going up and down the slide a million times?

Hitting the Nail on the Head

A friend shared this with me yesterday and it brought a smile to my face.

If I had a nickel for every time I said some version of "You always try to fix things when what I really need is for you to just listen," I'd be retired and living in a beach-front mansion in Hawaii by now...

Hope in the Darkness

I had originally started this blog four years ago when I was getting married. It was my way of navigating through the foreign terrain of married life.

Now, my husband and I are struggling with infertility. Some days are good. Some days are bad. Hell, some weeks are bad (this one in particular is tough). But as difficult as it is for us to cope with, I also think that it's just as difficult for our family and friends. They can sympathize, but it's hard for them to truly know what we're going through.

So, since the landscape has changed, I've decided this blog should change with it, not only as a way to give me a release, but as a way to help my family and friends understand our journey a little bit more. With that in mind, I'll start at the beginning...

Two years ago this month, my husband and I started trying to conceive.

One year ago today, I had laparoscopic surgery to remove a cyst the size of an orange from my left ovary.

And next month, we will be making our first visit to NYU Fertility Center. All of our tests have already been sent to our doctor - FSH (or follicle stimulating hormone, a blood test which tells whether or not my ovaries are functioning properly), transvaginal ultrasounds (which show where my cyst was and that it hasn't grown back), semen analysis (which determines the Mr.'s sperm count and motility), HSG (or hysterosalpingogram, an x-ray which shows if my fallopian tubes are open and that my uterus is normally shaped). They all came back normal (or in the case of my HSG, "anatomically perfect"), which is good... right? Well, that's the thing that's frustrating. We don't know what's wrong. If we knew what was wrong, we could fix. If we're both so healthy, why don't we have a baby right now?

When we were younger, we were told getting pregnant was easy. Insert Part A into Part B and voila! Nine months later, you get a baby.

Of course, what no one told us was that women are born with all the eggs they will ever have and that as we get older (around age 23), our chances of getting pregnant decrease slightly each year. In fact, a couple between the ages of 29 and 33 (our age box) only has a 20-25% chance of conceiving in a given month. This means I have better odds of winning at the blackjack table in Vegas than getting pregnant... which sucks!

Everyone who knows me knows I'm a planner. I make plans years in advance. I planned to have a baby. The Mr. and I picked out names for a boy and girl. I picked out furniture and nursery decor. I even bought myself a picture frame that says "... and baby makes three". It drives me crazy that things are not going to plan. But it also drives me crazy that my emotions are a nonstop roller coaster. When I get my period, I'm super sad and angry and bitter. When the middle of the month comes, I mellow out (kind of) and try to have a baby again. In the two weeks or so after ovulation, I give myself a chance to hope and dream of happy things. But then I get my period again and the cycle of emotions starts all over again.

The feelings of sorrow only get worse when I hear someone is pregnant - an old classmate, a client's wife, a neighbor or (as the case happened to be this week) a sister-in-law and a cousin. Yes, it's a happy time for them (as it should be), but for me it's a painful reminder of the one thing I so desperately want and feel as if I am never going to get.

Sometimes to get me through a rough day, I listen to one of my favorite Mumford & Sons' songs, Ghosts That We Knew. Their words are some of the few that can (without fail) comfort me:

"You saw my pain, washed out in the rain
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But you saw no fault no cracks in my heart
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart
But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life
So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we'll be alright"

I want you to know, family and friends, that I will keep looking for the "hope in the darkness." But as more time passes, it gets harder and harder to be hopeful...