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.  

Ten years ago, on a crisp mid-autumn morning, my dad and I went to Virginia Kendall Park in Cuyahoga Valley to photograph the sunrise.  It was the first time I held an SLR camera.  I was overwhelmed by the apparent complexity of it, but stood still and listened intently as he described the relationship between film speed, f/stop and shutter speed.  Poised behind the tripod, my warm breath shocked into the cold air...I was so proud of that first CLICK, snap and spin of the advancing film.

Ten years later...my dad and I ventured out once more.  This time, we explored the streets, alleys and architecture of downtown Cleveland.  This time, the camera wasn't daunting at all, but rather an extension of me.  Our photography journey this weekend was an emotional exploration of neighborhoods I haven't visited in over ten years, and nebulous memories of neighborhoods that only exist in a distant corner of my mind.

I adore July 4th.  It has always been one of my favorite holidays.  Maybe it has something to do with the simplicity of it, those hometown comforts...the family flags brought out from the attic, kids gathering in the street watching bottle rockets take flight, the sweet stinging smell of firecracker smoke, potluck picnics, the local marching band leading the parade, the coming together of families for no other reason than to enjoy each others company.  Just maybe.

Well, this year, Brian and I decided to celebrate the holiday in true small town fashion in Sawyer, Michigan.  It was the perfect July 4th retreat...a quaint vacation beach town with sprawling farm land, featuring dozens of locally owned wineries and adorable B&B's (ours was The Rabbit Run Inn).

I thought I would share these few images because of something the wedding officiant shared during Mindy and Chris' ceremony last weekend.  He said you should not only take photographs of the places you vacation, you should put them up as a reminder of the joyful times you have spent together, so you can always say to each other "Remember when..." to instantly relive those happy memories.  I thought it was beautiful advice for the newlywed couple...and for those of us not-so-newlyweds.  So, here's my reminder to my sweet husband, Brian...who laughed at me while I took half of my images from the window of the moving car!  Remember when...