I love small.  Small is so sweet...and peaceful...and just plain heart-warming.  Every so often, I am asked to document an intimate wedding like Jennifer and Phil's. I adore that such small days still deliver such big emotions. 

When Jennifer and Phil first shared their ideas for their Short North wedding day, I was beyond delighted.  They live in the Short North, along with Jennifer's sassy and adorable daughter, Payton.  Their neighborhood means a lot to them, it's a huge part of their lives and they knew it had to be a part of their wedding day too.  We had such fun documenting their portraits just steps away from their home...places they casually pass every day, that will forever hold a special place in their hearts.

This wedding was also very special to me because it was the first time my new Associate Photographer, Angela, worked with me on her own.  We had such a lovely time together and I'm so very excited for all the amazing artwork we will create together this year!

I rarely share deeply personal, family experiences here...but I feel the moments that alter my view of life, friendships and family should be shared with each of you.  It is life experiences like these that shape who I am as a daughter, wife, sister, friend, woman and photographer...

The night before Christmas Eve, my husband and I drove up to Akron to begin a joyful Christmas weekend with our families.  We shared a rowdy, laughter-filled dinner with my parents, then the two of us went out afterward to visit with our much loved circle of friends.  All was right in my world.  But then a few hours into our evening, I received a panicked phone call from my mom...my dad was rushed to the emergency room after a distressed, late night phone call from their doctor's office with recent blood test results, warning them that my dad's white blood cell count was a staggering 176,000...and should normally be 10,000.

I had no idea what was happening...I tried to stay calm...think clearly...be there for my family.  But that dark word was circling my mind, looking for a way in, a way to terrorize me, turn me inside out.  Cancer.  Cancer.  Cancer.  I kept the word distant...refused to let it come into focus.  But then the doctor confirmed the second blood test results, informed us that with a white blood cell count this high it is most likely Leukemia and then immediately admitted my dad to Oncology for a consultation with a hematologist the next morning.

Let me just say that cancer has unapologetically ripped so many dearly loved people from my life...so very early.  In my experience, cancer has quietly, devastatingly multiplied...silently erasing the life from within the people I love.  Of course, I also know several amazingly courageous, spirited people who discovered the disease in time, fought and won the battle.  Either way, cancer is a dark and terrifying disease...one that I never thought I could be friends with...until now.

As I walked the long, beige Oncology corridor the morning of Christmas Eve...all I could hear with every step was my heart pounding out the words, "No. No. No. No. No."  My mom waited with my dad for the doctor to arrive with the initial test results, while I numbly made my way to the cafeteria searching for something to settle my stomach, something to keep my thoughts away from what we were about to face.  But as I stood at the register in the dimly lit cafeteria, holding my tray of hospital breakfast rations, my heart twisted at the sound of "I'll Be Home for Christmas" crackling out of distant speakers.  That breakfast was the longest, loneliest meal of my life.

And then...miraculous news.

Dr. Trochelman arrived with my dad's initial blood test results.  The doctor patiently explained that there are two types of Leukemia, Acute Myelogenous Leukemia (AML) and Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia (CML).  He told us that after examining the types of white blood cells present in my dad's body, along with several other health factors, he was confident that my dad has Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia, an uncommon type of cancer of the blood cells that most often can be managed with a drug called Gleevec.  The doctor ordered an immediate bone marrow biopsy to confirm his diagnosis...and released my dad from the hospital by late afternoon Christmas Eve.  We later learned that Dr. Trochelman's diagnosis of CML was confirmed by the bone marrow biopsy and my dad was immediately introduced to the Gleevec treatment. 

Several weeks later, at a routine doctor exam...my mom had a moment to speak with the nurse who had called them with my dad's blood test results that sent him to the hospital.  She hugged my mom and tearfully expressed her relief and joy over my dad's diagnosis.  She admitted to my mom that making that call to our family before Christmas was the hardest thing she has ever done.  She then revealed that if my dad had been diagnosed with Acute Leukemia, with white blood cell counts at 176,00...he might not be with us today.   

I write this with unprecedented, unbridled gratitude for this amazing blessing.  But I also write this with heartfelt reverence for everyone who has lost someone to cancer, loves someone who is battling the disease or is fighting the illness themselves.  I will always despise this awful disease...and I pray that we see the day when a cure is created for all types of cancer. 

But in this one, small, wisp of an instance...I have found a cancer that isn't going to bring me to my knees, once again, with grief.  A cancer that won't claim the life of someone I love with all my heart.  A cancer, for which I am (ironically) eternally, deeply and forever grateful.  

I never told Jenn, but she reminds me of a dear friend I had many, many years ago.  And I never told her because after getting to know Jenn over this past year, I have the distinct feeling that she makes everyone feel as though they have always known and loved her.  Jenn's warmth, sparkling laugh and genuine compassion are a perfect match for Brendan's quiet attentiveness and gentle strength.  They are in love.  Absolutely.  Truly.  And perfectly. 

And I am in love with them.  Absolutely.  Truly.  And perfectly.

Jenn and Brendan's wedding was the last of our 2009 season, and for that (and many other countless reasons) their wedding will hold a special place in my heart.  In a way, the last wedding of the season feels like a new beginning.  A promise for good things to come...