So often, when you go to a wedding, you may know the wedding couple and perhaps even one of the bridesmaids or groom's attendants. But usually, the line of people entering the ceremony ahead of the couple, seem like random strangers. Of course, they're neither random, nor are they strangers to the wedding couple - as being chosen as a member of a wedding party is a great honor bestowed on the most special people in the couple's life (and the occasional obligatory "had to ask" attendant!). Throughout the wedding ceremony and the following cocktail hour and dinner reception, when doing a little digging, you can find out who these "random" people were and how they came to be part of the wedding party.

But we felt that the people that we've chosen are SO special to us, that we wanted you to have an introduction to each of them, and to know a little about why they are each so special in our lives. That way, they won't seem quite so random and unfamiliar as you watch them participate in our wedding celebration. So we invite you to enjoy as we share a little bit about the wonderful people who will be making up our wedding party!

(After the Matron and Maid of Honor and Best Man's bio's, the remaining bio's are in alphabetical order, as they are all equally important and equally special to me in their own ways!)

In early December 1969, my parents brought home a beautiful baby girl and introduced me to my new sister, Katie. I was 3 years old at the time, and I remember as they sat me down on the family room couch so that I could hold her - and so that Dad could take the first of what would become literally thousands of pictures of us together. When you look at that picture, you can see the sparkle in my eyes as I realized that I now this this amazing new person in my life – my very own sister. I think I realized even then, just how special she was going to become to me. There were only two kids in our family, and so Katie and I were virtually inseparable from as early as I can remember. She was my best friend, my playmate, my dutiful partner in crime…  my beautiful little sister. I say “dutiful” partner in crime, because Katie, as a child, didn’t have a mischievous bone in her body.

That can’t be said about me as a child! I was forever coming up with the next plot or scheme – anything to entertain, regardless of the consequences. And my sweet little sister, just went along with it all, letting me take the reigns and always following my direction. Luckily for her, my parents were wise to who the puppet-master was early on, so Katie avoided some of the punishments that came along with my schemes. But she always played along – regardless of how outrageous my ideas were – much to the regret of our parents, and the revolving door of babysitters, who never seemed to come back a second time! Whether it was convincing a babysitter that it was “Fire Drill Night” (requiring us ALL to jump out of windows – which, on one occasion, resulted in the babysitter ripping out the entire window casing as she tried to get out of a window that was clearly too small for her); or convincing Katie to hide me under her bed late one night after leaving a note in my bedroom by an open window, which explained that I had run away because the babysitter was mean… the stories are endless. But in all of it, the memories of my childhood are forever linked to the happiness and joy - and love - I felt, having the most amazing sister in the world.

As Katie grew up, she became the one of the most popular and well respected people that I have ever known. She got my Dad’s sense of humor, which is rather legendary in our family, and Katie became one of those people that everyone wanted to know and wanted to be like. To say she was popular and a role model in high school is an understatement. If Katie wore it, everyone wanted to wear it. If Katie listened to it, everyone wanted to listen to it. The world became her oyster. But where her true colors really showed, was that, no matter how popular she was, she was always (and I mean ALWAYS) nice to everyone – regardless of where they ranked on the “social scale”. She would always have just as much time for the outcasts as she would for the other popular kids that made up her social circle. Back in the 80’s, when movies like “Pretty in Pink” and “The Breakfast Club” were showing us the class divide between different teenage social groups, which was, of course, emulated in our school, my sister was a pioneer in breaking down those walls, and having no interest in promulgating those stereotypes. I’ve had more than a few classmates of hers tell me how impressed they always were that Katie never seemed to worry about the “social risks” of interacting with the “uncool” kids, and how much many of them appreciated someone like Katie taking time out to be nice to them during those very difficult years. I was four years ahead of her school – and so we were never technically in the same school together – but I remember even hearing from friends of mine that I had graduated with, just how amazing my sister was. There isn’t anyone who’s ever had a bad word to say about her. She was liked and respected by everyone. Most especially, her big brother. Once I had graduated and moved out on my own, we ran up spectacular phone bills to keep in constant touch, and would often sit and talk on the phone for hours late at night.

She was also the first person I came out to in my family. Or, I should say, she outed me! I’ll never forget the night: I had taken her to the Hard Rock Café in New York. She was only 17 and still in high school, but she looked old enough to drink, and so getting served was never an issue. By this time I had had two significant relationships: Wesley (my first love) and Terrence, who I was living with at the time. She was staying with us, but I had done my best to cover up the relationship, as I wasn’t ready to admit anything yet. So there we were at the Hard Rock, after a couple of drinks, and she blurts out “So, is Terrence just a friend, or what?” I nearly spit my drink across the table! “What?” I said… “What about Wesley? Was he just a friend, or what?”. When I got finished choking on my drink, I still wasn’t sure I was ready to answer her question. So she continued: “I know! You’re gay!” Wow! 17 years old and already this smart! She assured me that not only was she ok with it, but that she actually thought it was amazing, telling me: “None of my friends have gay brothers. This means I now officially have the coolest brother of anyone I know!”. Double Wow!

And it’s that kind of support that I’ve had from her my entire life - and continue to have to this day. I couldn’t imagine my life without my wonderful sister. I'm also incredibly proud of all of her achievements. She graduated valedictorian from her college, and then went into publishing, where she enjoyed many successful years as the managing editor of a wonderful publishing house in Marin County, California. While there, she had the gift of not only loving her job, but also getting to work with New York Times Bestselling Authors and Nobel Laureates. But in 2005, began what she likes to call "the job of a lifetime" and her "most favorite role", when she gave me one of the greatest gifts in the world: my beautiful nephew, Jonah… who has become my pride and joy (and will be our Ring Bearer). A few years later, her beautiful daughter, Emma-Kate was born, and I found out what it meant to grow another two hearts. My sister, Katie, is someone that I love and respect… a person who I look up to and greatly admire… for so many reasons. She challenges me in ways that nobody else can, and always makes me a better person because of it. Whatever she sets her mind to in life, she accomplishes in ways that no other person could. And she’s incredibly kind. As kind a person as you’d ever hope to know. She’s always been my rock, and so that is why she’s my Matron of Honor. I’ve been grateful for every second we’ve ever spent together, and am beyond grateful that she’ll be standing with me as I marry the man of my dreams.

I can’t begin this story with “the day I met McKenzie”, because I actually knew about her long before I ever met her. McKenzie came to quite a bit of fame when she played “Sheridan Crane” on NBC’s “Passions”, a role she would play for the entirety of the run of the show, and a role that would come to be one of the most popular soap opera characters in daytime history. So, my first connection with McKenzie, was seeing her on television. It was the first year that Passions was on the air, and I was still living in the San Francisco Bay Area, preparing for my upcoming move down to Los Angeles. Because I worked for myself, I had the luxury of watching television during the day, and would often pop it on while eating lunch. On this one particular lunchtime, I was channel surfing, and stopped on a show I didn’t recognize, simply because the screen was filled with some of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. It caught my attention and I stopped and watched for a few minutes. I soon figured out that this must be a re-run of Saturday Night Live that I hadn’t seen, as it was one of the most hysterical lampoons of a soap opera that I had ever seen. It reminded me of the SNL skits about “the Gap” (“here, put a HAT with it and it’s perfect!”). So I kept watching as these muscle bound pretty boys (who were having a “town’s hottest body” contest) very effectively made fun of soap opera acting. Except, the skit didn’t stop. Not only didn’t it stop – it went on and on, and soon turned into other scenes. These new scenes featured a witch and her ventriloquist dummy that would come to life. So, obviously, my amusement continued. I didn’t know what exactly this was, but it was hysterical. That is, until the end of the hour, when they did the standard “tomorrow on Passions…” promo. Damn! It’s a REAL soap opera! After an hour, I was interested enough with where the stories were going to want to turn it on again the next day. And the next. And the next. Ugh! Now, as most people who know me would attest, I’m not really a soap opera watching type guy. But there I was… and in about a week I was fully hooked. As I soon found out, the acting was really not that bad on the show (other than the muscle bound pretty boys, who had clearly never acted before, and looked like they been taken from the modeling world to fill these roles). In fact, some of the acting was very good on the show – in spite of the very whacky story lines and dialogue that would have even given Meryl Streep a challenge! But it was definitely a catchy show. And low and behold, I was now a soap watcher.

Fast forward to a few months later, and I’m now living in Los Angeles, renting a guest house in the Hollywood Hills. The next door neighbor was Tori Spelling, and her assistant, Jason, was living there full time, supervising the complete remodel of the house. It wasn’t long before Jason and I were friends, and it became a fairly regular occurrence for him to pop down to my guest house and say “let’s grab lunch – I have Tori’s credit card!” But whenever he’d come down between 2 p.m and 3 p.m., you guessed it: I was in front of the TV watching Passions. By this time, the show was aggravating me more than entertaining me (as Soap Opera’s do – never quite letting the characters have any real happiness or break from the high drama of the genre!), but Jason could never pull me away from seeing what was happening next on the show, so he realized that if he came down before Passions was over, he’d have to sit and watch with me til it was over. One of those days, McKenzie’s character, Sheridan, was on the screen. I remarked to him that she was the best actor on the show, and he informed me that he knew her (through his best friend, Cherie, who worked on the show). So I told him to tell her that she was a great actor. That was sort of the end of that. Until, about 3 weeks later, Jason invited me to dinner at Mexicali in the Studio City. Apparently, Tori and a few of her 90210 cast-mates would be there – along with a “few other people”. Jason made a point of telling me to be there EXACTLY at 7:30. Ok, I’m often late for things and my friends know it, so I didn’t think anything of it. But I arrived at Mexicali (at 7:30, thank you very much!), the table was already filled with about 20 people who all had appetizers already, and one empty seat. I said to Jason “you told me 7:30, didn’t you?” “Yes,” he said, “you’re right on time!”. The mischievous grin on his face should have read volumes! Well, there was one empty chair, and so he started the introductions from the person to the left of the empty chair, and went around the table, introducing everyone – including the 90210 people, like Jenni Garth, Luke Perry, Jason Priestly, etc. Everyone was very gracious, which was nice, since I was SO embarrassed for being so obviously late! Well, when we got to the last introduction, the girl sitting in the seat to the right of the one empty seat waiting for me, Jason said “and Henry, this is McKenzie Westmore. McKenzie, Henry is your biggest fan. He sits home every day watching Passions and drooling over you!” I was MORTIFIED! I immediately became a blithering idiot (much to the amusement of Jason and the others at the table), and began spouting off things like “I’m not a fan…er, I mean, I don’t drool over you… er, I mean, I’m GAY, so I’m not watching you to… er, I mean, I mean, I don’t even LIKE the show because it’s so bad… I mean, no, it’s that it’s bad…well, it is, but YOU’RE good in it… YOU’RE an amazing actor… and um, but I’m gay, so I’m not drooling…” Complete mortification! So in a merciful gesture (so true to her nature) she finally put a reassuring hand on my arm and said “it’s ok, I know what’s good and bad about the show… why don’t you sit down and eat?” So, I did… and although still incredibly embarrassed by Jason’s little joke (a joke that I give him a LOT of credit for), she reassured me quickly that she knew Jason’s sense of humor and was quite certain that if I was Jason’s friend, that I was probably not some creepy soap drooling type of guy. And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Little did I realize during that first dinner, that this beautiful and funny and wonderful person sitting next to me, would become like family to me… and that her family would come to adopt me as one of their own. But back to the dinner. McKenzie and I talked non-stop through the dinner. We had a million things in common, and before we were done eating, we had even planned to one day go to New Orleans together to see all of the locations from the Anne Rice Vampire novels. (Funny that I’d actually end up marrying someone from New Orleans!). After the dinner, the whole group went to a bar in the valley, called (of all things!) “The Queen Mary”, which was a cheesy drag bar, where the drag queens would put on quite a stage show. It was a blast, and we had an amazing time. Except for one small problem: there were some very drunk straight guys who had been dragged there, and upon seeing the gorgeous McKenzie (a real girl!), decided that the night wouldn’t be a total waste if one of them could hook up with her. At this point in her life, she was still fairly young, and as the show had only been on the air for a few months, she hadn’t yet had a lot of experience with obnoxious attention out in public. Now she can handle it like a seasoned pro, but that night, being in her early 20’s, I knew that the guys advances were making her uncomfortable. So I whispered in her ear “want me to run interference?” She nodded and the look in her eyes said “yes, PLEASE!”. “Follow my lead,” I said. I then put my arm around her, looked at the most obnoxious of the guys and said “Are you coming on to my girlfriend, dude?” He answered “Sorry, man, didn’t know”. To which I answered “well, she’s with me, so show some respect, ok?”. They quickly realized the jig was up and we never saw them again. Thankfully! I can talk a good game, but I wasn’t quite prepared to defend her honor in the parking lot if the drunk guys had decided to pick a fight outside the bar. But by this time, I genuinely liked this new friend, and I sure would have tried to take one or two out, if it had turned to a parking lot fight!

Fast forward to a few months later, and I was preparing to release my first pop CD (“Fall Over You”), and had scheduled my CD release concert at the Key Club on the Sunset Strip. I had decided to donate all of the proceeds from the evening to the Pediatric Aids Foundation, and thought that it would probably be best if I had a host for the evening, who could speak about the charity and then kick things off for the debut concert. Jason had mentioned that McKenzie was also a great singer, and so I thought she might be a great choice – if she was willing to do it. Now, I hadn’t seen her since that first night we met – and even though she kept saying she wanted to give me her phone number, with the issues of the drunk guys, when we got out to the parking lot, it was a pretty hasty goodbye – in case there had been a potential issue. But, by this time, I had gotten to know Jason’s friend Cherie fairly well (who was the “Passion’s” stage manager), and asked her if she’d approach McKenzie about hosting the concert. McKenzie called me fairly soon after that, and was very enthusiastic about helping me out. We also decided that she’d sing a couple of duets with me at the concert. So, in the process of rehearsing for the show, and the planning of the hosting side of it, she and I got to know each other even better. There just was an instant click between us, and we literally were like two peas in a pod. When the night of the concert arrived, her show’s publicist had put out some press releases, and so the red carpet outside of the Key Club was filled with fans and photographers, and was everything I had ever hoped it would be as we pulled up to the front of the club in our stretch limo. Inside the limo with us were my sister, Katie, and a guy that she had been dating at the time. And for McKenzie and I, who had both been working in the entertainment industry, we immediately turned it on for the cameras and started working that red carpet as soon as we stepped out of the limo. Now, I’m not sure whether I did it, or if it was the limo driver, but somehow the car door was slammed before Katie or the date had even gotten out! It sort of became the joke of the evening, that McKenzie and I got so wrapped up in the flashbulbs that we left them back in the car! Well, let me state here and now, that if there is any fault to be had, it should be placed squarely on my shoulders, because McKenzie, no matter how successful she becomes, would never push a friend or a loved one out of the spotlight. I would find this to be true many many times in the years of our friendship, as her fame and popularity grew, and I’d accompany her to red carpet events. It’s no secret that the press (and press reps) can be like barracuda’s at these red carpet events. If you’re a star, they fall over themselves trying to get a piece of you – but if you’re an unrecognized companion, they’d sooner squash you beneath their feet, than have you darken their red carpet. But McKenzie would never stand for me being pushed to a back entrance when she was walking a red carpet into an event. She’d always say “Come on! This will get you some publicity too!” And even if the event reps would try to block me from accompanying her, she’d tell me “Just ignore them! You’re with me!” That shows a grace and a class that can often be hard to come by in Hollywood. I credit her amazing parents for raising children with values and realistic impressions of the world. (You’ll read more about those amazing people later in these bios.) I’ve come to realize that McKenzie is someone who truly deserves the label of “star”, because she’s as gracious and kind and grateful as they come – and talented. As countless audiences and fans have found out over the years that she’s been a known name in the industry. Currently, McKenzie can be seen as the host of the hit SyFy tv show “Face Off”, and you’ll probably recognize her from the many billboards and advertisements for the show that have been seen all over the country. But where the world knows her as this glamorous star – I simply know her as: my best friend, Kenz.

“Kenz” is the name that her family calls her, and it wasn’t long before she was inviting me to her parent’s house for family events and get togethers. And that is when my love affair with her entire family began. It was as if I had known them all forever, and before I knew it, they were including me in holiday dinners (when I wasn’t able to return to the east coast to my own family), and even inviting me along at times that McKenzie wasn’t even there. They all became like family to me, and my friendship with McKenzie grew immeasurably over the years. It got to the point where we each knew what the other needed, even without being told. I remember the day that they shot the last scenes on “Passions”. I had seen her a day or two before at her parent’s house, and after a more than 10 year run on NBC, the cancellation of the show was obviously a big topic of conversation. But Kenz kept assuring everyone that she was fine with it. She felt really good about her work on the show, and was ready for some new challenges. She honestly felt it was time to move on, and told all of us not to worry about her on the final day – that if anything, it would be a relief to take a break from the grind of shooting a soap. But on that morning of the last day of shooting, I had this sinking feeling that she’d need me. So I ran over to the studio. It was easy for me to get in, as I visited very frequently, and pretty much everyone knew me over there. I don’t remember who I called for a studio pass, but I quickly had one, and went up to her dressing room (as I had done countless times before), and waited for her to come back. She had a TV in her dressing room with a direct feed to the studio, so I was watching that and knew when she was on her way back. Well, the door opened and she saw me sitting there. “What are you doing here?” she asked with a pleased voice. “I just had a hunch you might need me today”. She told me how sweet she thought it was, and that she was thrilled to have me there, but that she really was fine with it. They then called for the last shot of the day. She quickly changed to her final “Sheridan Crane” costume, and with a smile on her face left for the soundstage. After they yelled “cut” on the final scene for the series, there were the usual hugs and high fives and all that a close knit cast like that would go through when officially calling it a day. But I noticed that McKenzie disappeared from the feed not long after the high-fiving began. Soon, her dressing room door would open, and she ran in and shut it behind her as the tears began to pour from her eyes. I took her into my arms and she wept. I’ll never forget it. Finally she looked up at me with those big beautiful tear filled blue eyes of hers and said “how did you know?” I smiled at her and said “because I know you, honey… and I knew you’d need me right at this moment, so there was nowhere else that I would have been today, but waiting here for you.” It was yet another bonding moment in this amazing friendship that I treasure with my very soul.

Our history is long and involved, and I could go on for pages and pages about why she’s so special to me. I’ve written starring roles for her in two of my most important projects. She played the ghost of my mother in my musical film “Eclipse of the Heart”, giving a heartfelt and stunning performance. I wrote two seasons of a sitcom for her and I to star in together – a show based on the early years of our friendship when it was often reported in the press and on fan blogs that we were a couple, which couldn’t have been further from the truth… but often gave us some good laughs when they’d get it so wrong about our relationship with each other. Her beautiful son, Maddox (born 6 months after my nephew Jonah), calls me “Uncle Henry”, which is wonderful since I think of him like a nephew. She's also brought the wonderful gift of her boyfriend, Patrick, into our lives - a man who is a giving and caring and extraordinary friend that we have come to cherish. I even lived in her guest house for a while after a roommate situation went bad and I wanted a quick escape. And even after moving away from Los Angeles in 2010, our friendship has become even stronger. We talk as much as possible, and try to see each other whenever our travels have us in the same city. McKenzie is like a part of me – as important to me as my right arm. She feels like an extension of me, and my life is better for having her a part of it. Perry and I truly feel that she is a part of our family, and though not blood related, she’s a part of us, and we cherish her in ways that words cannot describe. I’m not only honored to have her stand there with me as my Maid of Honor, but I’m grateful that my Maid of Honor is someone I can trust with my life, who has been there for me through thick and thin, and who makes me smile every time I think of her.

The first time I saw Matthew Davis was in a college production of “West Side Story”, in which he was playing the role of “Action”. I had a lot of friends in the show, but Matt’s work as “Action” kept getting my attention, and soon I was riveted by the amazingly nuanced performance of this college kid. The role of “Action” can easily be played as a “one note” character: full of bravado and quick to fight (hence the name, “Action”). But in Matt, this character became incredibly layered. I saw a real person, not just a caricature of a 1950’s gang member. I could see the pain that was below the surface, and even the hope in the kid’s eyes when he wasn’t feeling the need to throw a punch. It’s not a character I’ve ever felt particularly drawn to in the piece, and until that night, I never honestly paid a lot of attention to that character (even when I did the show myself years earlier!). But I saw a whole world in this kid that was very alive for him as the show progressed, and it impressed the hell out of me. After the show, when catching up with my friends who were in the cast, I made a point of finding this “Matthew Davis” person and telling him how I touched I was by his portrayal. Matt, himself, is a fairly imposing figure. Tall, broad shouldered, with sort of a natural furl in his brow that almost makes you wonder if you should turn and run instead of approach. But approach I did. And what I found was this big gentle giant… because once you engage with him, the furrowed brow suddenly disappears and is replaced by the warmest and gentlest smile you’ve ever experienced. Make him laugh, and that smile breaks into an ear to ear grin that simply makes you happy to be alive. And instead of being a cocky college kid, he genuinely wanted to hear what I had to say – and even had questions about some specific things when he found out that I had done the show professionally some years earlier. To say that my first meeting with Matt left me impressed, doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt when I shook his giant hand and wished him luck. What I didn’t realize that night, though, was that this gentle giant (as I like to call him), would become like a brother to me. I had no idea just how important he would become in my life, nor did I have any inkling of the things that we’d one day accomplish together.

I saw him again when we were both cast in a production of “Brigadoon”, playing the role of Charlie Dalrymple (who sings “Come to Me, Bend To Me”, for those that know the show). It’s a wonderful show, and the musical director let me really put my own mark on the songs that my character sang, which included one particular note that I sang way up in my head voice, and would hold for what seemed like an eternity every night. It’s a little vocal trick that I’ve sort of perfected, and it worked well at that moment in the show. And I remember Matt making a point of seeking me out and complimenting me on it when I first did it in rehearsal. And as we got into the run of the show, he continued to be incredibly complimentary about what I was doing vocally and with the character. What I soon came to realize was that this wasn’t just the compliment of a fellow actor, but it was the compliment of a musical genius – a musical genius who had grown up with very accomplished musicians as parents. So this compliment held a lot of weight, more than I even realized at the time. Both of his parents, Marsha and Doug, were in the show as well, and I soon realized that the Davis family was a known staple in the area – often appearing together on stage. As the show continued it’s run, the cast, of course, grew close. I especially became close friends with his beautiful and talented mother, Marsha. Matt and I developed one hell of an amazing friendship as well – a friendship that his mother confided she was glad to see, as she thought I’d be a good influence on him. Matt and I found that we had a lot in common, and genuinely enjoyed hanging out together. He often would have his guitar around and would play me the most amazing acoustic songs I’ve ever heard. I remember thinking “why is this kid in the Bay Area and not writing music for top recording artists?” I won’t go into details here, as it’s not my story to tell, but there was also a difficult experience that occurred for Matt and his Mom during the run of the show. And I found myself often being a sounding board for both of them – especially Matt, who was known to keep his feelings locked below the surface when things get tough. It’s a remarkable defense mechanism that he has, and in the years that I’ve known him, I’ve seen him face some unbelievable obstacles with grace, due to his ability to keep his feelings locked away until the time is appropriate to let them out. When we finally closed Brigadoon, life had changed in significant ways for Matt and his family. Some doors were closed, but others were opening. Marsha continued to live, as she always did, with grace, kindness, faith and an unshakable ability to see the beauty and good in the world. And Matt was ready to get out on his own and spread his own wings to fly. So we arranged for him to become my roommate. We got incredibly close during the time we lived together in that house – often sitting up late into the night discussing the universe and what it all means… or sharing our passion for theater… or playing music for each other that we loved or that inspired us. Matt also needed to be heard during this period in his life… and that ability to keep his feelings locked under the surface, had also meant that he was holding a lot back… there were things he’d held back for years that he needed to get off his chest and share with someone. Those nights that we sat talking til the sun came up were incredibly special to me – as I know they were to him. And I had the chance to get so much off of my chest as well. It was most definitely a two way street. These are very private types of conversations that people have, but I’m sharing it with you here, because it’s one of the reasons that Matt can write music with such incredible emotional depth. It’s part of what makes him a true artist, and one of the greatest talents I’ve ever known. Anyone who is lucky enough to hear his music will understand what I’m saying and why I’m sharing this with you.

A year or two later, I had finally made the decision to move to Los Angeles. I had recently completed the recording of a Big Band/Standards CD, and was incredibly proud of it. But there was still a part of me that wanted a shot at the pop music world. For years I had heard “your voice is too good for pop music” or “you’re too Broadway”. But I knew if I had the right songs, that I could knock that argument flat on it’s backside. And I knew exactly who to talk to about finding those right songs: Matt Davis. Now, I had long known that Matt wrote music specifically for himself and for his band, but I was hoping that he’d be willing to let me record some of his extraordinary songs. So we met, and I told him what I was hoping to do. He was enthusiastic and supportive, and wanted me to hear some of the new things he was writing. The first was “Love Song 26”. Before he played the song for me, he made sure I understood that this song was his baby, and that it wasn’t one that would be up for grabs. But then he started to play and sing… “it’s 3 a.m. and I’m still awake… seems I can’t fall asleep without you in my arms…” I found myself swept up in a song that absolutely blew me away. This wasn’t just a song – this was a masterpiece. I couldn’t get the tune (or the lyrics) out of my head. He went on to play a couple more of his more recent songs, all of which literally knocked my socks off. The lyrics were inspired, the chord progressions were sheer magic… and the melodies were in a word: unforgettable. We agreed that we’d work together to develop some new songs for my planned CD, and that he’d even help to put a band together down in L.A., once I was ready to start recording. For the next few days, I couldn’t get “Love Song 26” out of my mind. It literally haunted me. I felt an incredible connection to the song, and although I knew I couldn’t have it for my own CD, I knew that the guy who wrote it would, no doubt, create some equally moving pieces of music for me.

Not long after that, I relocated to Los Angeles, and began getting back into the entertainment industry on a professional level. It wasn’t long before I was cast in my first film (dancing with Debbie Reynolds!), and some more film and TV work would quickly follow. But the development of the music for the new CD was also forefront in my mind. I flew Matt down to L.A. from the Bay Area, and we began playing around with songs. I loved what he was coming up with – any of which I’d be proud to record. But still, I couldn’t shake “Love Song 26”. I finally admitted to him just how much I loved that song, and how badly I wanted to record it. He was honest with me that he couldn’t see himself giving that song up to another singer, but did agree to teach it to me that day, so that I could at least sing it once. He handed me his binder, open to the lyrics he had written for the song, and taught it to me. Then it was my turn to sing. From the first note that I sang, the song felt like putting on a handmade suit that was designed to fit me like a glove. As I continued singing this amazing song, I was pulled in by the story it tells, and it quickly took on a life of it’s own in my voice. Some of the vocal nuances that I’m known for, fit perfectly into various parts of the song, and I even discovered some new vocal finesse’s as well. By the time I got done singing it, I felt as if my life had been changed in those short few minutes.

And as I closed up Matt’s binder, and handed it back to him, the look in his eyes was like the look a mother gives when she hands her newborn baby off to it’s new adoptive parents. There was a sadness in him suddenly… and as he took a deep breath and mustered a heartfelt smile, this gentle giant that I had come to know and love and respect, said four words that I’ll never forget: “You should sing it”. I cannot stress to you the emotion that comes up when an artist hears his own masterpiece – his “one song glory”, if you will – come to life in the voice of another singer… or what that moment is like, when you realize that your perfect creation would meet the world for the first time, not in your own voice, but in the voice of another. I knew how hard the words “you should sing it” were for Matt to say, but I’ll always be grateful that he gave me the privilege. It wasn’t long before he was back to his usual smiling self, and a newfound sense of excitement began to fill the room as he began to play more and more songs that he thought would work for me. In that afternoon, many of the songs that would eventually end up on my “Fall Over You” CD would be played for me for the very first time.

I want to amend that last statement slightly: “Fall Over You” may have my name on the CD cover, but it is in no way, shape or form, just “mine”. It’s as much Matt’s as it is mine. His heart and soul is all over that very special CD, and the journey we were about to take together, would be absolutely magical!

Our first step, was to record some initial acoustic versions of a couple of songs as demos, which we decided to do at a world class studio I had recorded in years earlier in New York City. It was there that Matt got to hear the very first professional recordings ever made of his music. Matt’s usual easy smile was at least two miles wider during those days in the studio. I could see what a boost to his self-confidence it was, to hear how truly amazing his music is when professionally produced.

But things were not all wine and roses as we had those first sessions in New York. His beloved mother, Marsha - who had so successfully battled cancer a few years before – had recently come out of remission. While we were recording, I had a chance to chat with Marsha on the phone. She told me how proud she was to see Matt making his musical dreams come true; and particularly how much it meant to her that he was taking that journey with me. You’ve never heard a mother as proud as Marsha was that day. I could hear in her voice that her health was failing, but I could still feel her gentle and loving spirit coming through; her once gossamer voice still giving glimpses of the silken tones that had made me smile every time I heard her speak or sing. But I had the sinking feeling that day, as we spoke, that her battle would soon come to an end.

I got to speak to her one last time, not long after Matt returned from New York. She called me to tell me how happy she was that she had lived long enough to see Matt’s music recorded professionally. She told me stories of him as a child – the baby of the family - how he’d emulate his parent’s musically… always so eager to learn and always so eager to please. She admitted that the exceptional musical talents of her elder son, Jason, had often outshone the accomplishments of Matt, and that he had often lived in the shadow of his older brother… and for that she felt regret. But I assured her that anything Matt ever felt about being in the shadow of his talented brother, came from what other people said out in the world, but not from what he felt coming from her. I could hear the gratitude in her voice, and the relief to know that Matt hadn’t felt let down by her; but I knew that the thought of Matt feeling like he had been “second best” was weighing on her heavily. She went on to explain that Jason had been a prodigy, with an ability to literally play any instrument he would pick up; he could not just play, but would play at an excellence that most people can only accomplish on one instrument. Matt, who was a few years younger, had also shown much promise as a child, but the difference, she explained, was that Jason was technical talent who could often achieve perfection in his playing and arranging, which gained him much attention and praise. But Matt, she said, he had something beyond that. Something his brother did not have. Something that can never be taught: the soul of an artist with the raw talent of a Mozart. She knew there were times when his brother’s technical excellence had outshined the genius that was developing in Matt, and she continued to thank me for being the one to see that genius. She told me how grateful she was for my part in letting Matt finally feel what it was like to be the chosen one… allowing him to finally know that he had emerged from the shadow, able to let his own special light shine brilliantly. And she asked that I would always remind him just how much she admired his light… how much she admired his artistry and beautiful lyrical poetry… how much she respected his talent… in fact, just how much she looked up to him. I assured her that she’d continue to have many chances to tell him that herself. But we both knew that wasn’t true. She assured me that her faith was still strong, and that she wasn’t afraid – only sad to leave her beautiful boys behind, and especially sad to think how her passing would affect her youngest. “Jason,” she said with some effort, “Jason is resilient and independent. And he’s got his kids to help him heal when I’m gone… But Matthew… he’s my baby, and he’s always needed me…” And then her voice trailed off, and she stopped speaking for a moment. Then, taking as deep a breath as she was able to muster, she told me that she needed me to make a promise for her. Anything, I told her. I can still hear her voice, as she said the words: “Look out for Matthew for me. He’ll need you when I’m gone.”  I told her that he was a part of me, and that it would be the easiest promise to keep. Sadly, a number of years later, I had to break that promise – a choice that seemed necessary and appropriate at the time – but as time passed, I grew to regret that decision, realizing that the disagreement that occurred between Matt and I, was caused by an outside source. I came to see that, in the grand scheme of things, how we both felt about that disagreement, paled in comparison to all that we had shared, all we had been to each other… and most especially, how much that last promise to Marsha has continued to mean to me all of these years later. The details of what occurred are between Matt and myself, but let me share with you here, that I don’t intend to ever break that promise to Marsha again.

We lost our beautiful Marsha on July 4th, 2000. And while the world lost one of the most gracious, gentle and kind souls the world has ever known, Heaven found itself with a new Angel… one who most surely still looks down on all of us with that heartwarming smile that could calm even the most anxious of hearts. She was a gift to us all. And she left behind a gift that I will forever be grateful for: her son, Matt. Getting back to work on the music for the new CD was, in many ways, a good thing for Matt, after the passing of his mother. We’d often reminisce about her, and I think it was much comfort for him to know how proud she had been of him, and how excited she was about what we were creating together. So, it was only right that the CD we’d eventually release, would be proudly dedicated to her memory.

For the next several months, Matt would regularly travel down to L.A. for us to work together. He started bringing along an amazing lead guitarist, Todd, from his own band in the Bay Area, to help continue the development of the music. There were a lot of amazing late night writing and jamming sessions during that period. Through Matt’s coaching and musical guidance, I became more and more grounded in these songs, and stretched my voice in ways it had never been stretched before. And I realized that this music was far beyond the standard “pop” genre. We were creating something new… a cross between acoustic rock and epic power ballads. It wasn’t long before we were ready to take it into the studio. But first was to put together the band. Matt, Todd and I sat through the good, the bad and the hideously ugly during that week of auditions. There were moments of great inspiration, like when we found our pianist, the talented Joseph John… and there were moments that we offered to plunge drumsticks into each other’s ear drums, in an attempt to mercifully save us from ever having to hear the butchering of musical notes again. It was during those particular low moments Tiny Tim’s “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”, became our favorite stress breaker. To share the joke with you all, we discovered that the very odd performer from the 60’s known as Tiny Tim, who made the “tulips” song so famous with his high pitched falsetto and his signature ukulele, had apparently met his untimely demise on a stage, in front of an audience, performing that very same song. In my never-ending attempt to take a humorous anecdote over the line of good taste, I started doing an impression of poor Tiny Tim during his last moments on earth. Terribly tasteless, to be sure. But it was certain to send the three of us into hysterics the second one of us sang the word “tiptoe”…

By the end of the week, we had our band, and together we continued to develop the songs. Matt’s music took on a new life of it’s own, and very quickly the band began to gel as if it had been playing together forever. The recording sessions went brilliantly, and by the end, we had a collection of music that we all were incredibly proud of. As the CD went to the production house, we began to redirect our energies toward the CD release concert. The concert would be at the legendary Key Club on the famed Sunset Strip in Hollywood. The list of musical legends who had played there was awe inspiring. So, on my birthday, October 14^th, 2001, Matt and I (and our band) – along with my Maid of Honor, McKenzie, who was hosting the evening – were in the dressing rooms in the basement below the stage at the Key Club, getting ready to debut our music. The excitement for all of us was palpable, as we heard the echo’s of our opening act playing for the very enthusiastic sold out crowd up in the theater. And, as the band began to climb the stairs to the stage, hearing the sounds of excitement from the crowd in the theater as they eagerly awaited our show, I took Matt aside so that we could have a moment for just the two of us; a chance to take in just how momentous this night truly was for the both of us. And right before we went up to the stage, Matt looked up above him and said in quiet, barely audible voice: “thanks Mom, this one’s for you.” I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and let him walk ahead of me up those stairs to our destiny. What Matt doesn’t know, is that after he began up those stairs, I looked up to the same spot where had looked moments before, and said my own barely audible words: “thank you Marsha… for the gift of Matt”.

That concert was a resounding success, and we went on to play some more incredible shows with the band. All in all, we were very happy with the reception we got (and continue to get) for “Fall Over You”. And “Love Song 26” still remains, to this day, my very favorite song to sing.

Matt has been with me through many momentous events in my life – even accompanying me and my family to Davenport, Iowa where I’d be speaking and performing at an event to celebrate the accomplishments of my Great Great Grandfather, the first Henry Farnam, who had built the railroad that connected New York and Chicago to the Quad Cities and the Mississippi River (where he would also build the very first bridge across that river - an accomplishment which would allow for the continuation of the great transcontinental railroad). We had a wonderful weekend, learning even more about the historical significance of my ancestor’s achievements than I had even realized. I cannot look back on that event and not see, in my mind’s eye, the big smiling face of the gentle giant that had been by my side so many times as I sang his songs. Even on the occasion that I suffered from nerves, all it took was one flash of that winning smile, and everything seemed all right. And so it’s with immense gratitude that I look forward to having my gentle giant by my side once again, looking on with that smile that could melt Antarctica, as I experience the most momentous occasion in my life: marrying Perry. I should have been at Matt’s side, as we had always planned, when he married his beautiful wife, Jess. But foolish pride kept that from happening… mine? his? a combination of both? I suppose we’re both to blame and we’re both innocent. But what truly matters, is that he is now back in my life, as he should be – as he always should have been… and on October 11^th, 2014, I’ll have the great honor of having him once again by my side, as I take a great step toward my future. And I’d like to think that Marsha will be looking down on us that day, once again happy to see that old wounds have finally been healed, and that we are like brothers once again.

Patricia “Pat” Smith has truly been a Godsend in my life. I met her in 1993, just prior to moving to the San Francisco Bay Area. My partner at the time, Doug, and I were moving to the Bay Area so that he could be close to his mother, who we had just recently found again. (A nasty divorce from Doug’s cruel father had kept her from her first two children.) Pat was dating a friend of mine at the time, and so we got to know each other quite well during my first years living in the Bay Area. My relationship was, sadly, quite tumultuous; and being across the country from my friends and family was incredibly rough on me, especially in light of the deteriorating relationship with Doug. Pat was invaluable to me during this period. She was friend, sounding board, relationship counselor, therapist – and incredible shoulder to cry on. Pat is one of the most generous and selfless people in the Universe. I’m not sure she even knows how to think about herself, as her life has been all about making the world better for those around her. When I was first getting to know her, she was the dessert chef at a very high end restaurant in San Mateo (part of San Francisco’s “South Bay” area). We used to go to the restaurant, where she’d order EVERY dessert on the menu, so that she could be sure they were coming out to her very high standards. Anyone who knows my never-ending sweet tooth can imagine how much I LOVED those nights! At the time we were both in relationships that had emotional highs and lows, and we truly came to rely on each other – talking almost every day, and seeing each other at least once a week. When my father traveled to California to attend a photography seminar, and then spend a few weeks photographing the West Coast, I introduced he and my mother to Pat, and they adored her. That night at dinner, the three talked as if they had known each other forever, and the friendship that began that night between my parents and Pat has lasted more than 20 years. As it turned out, my mother had not planned on staying with my Dad through the second part of his California trip, as he’d be at the seminar and then taking some photographic day trips around Northern California. (Dad would say later that it was a terrible mistake because he missed her so much after she left, and vowed never to travel apart again.) During Dad’s couple of weeks of photographic day trips, there were evenings when I wasn’t available to have dinner with him, and Pat always made sure there was a place at her dinner table for him, so he wouldn’t have to eat alone. That’s how generous and caring she is.

During the years we both lived in the Bay Area, Pat and I became incredibly close, which also meant that I began to become close to her two younger children who were still living at home.: Molly, who was in her last years of High School, and her youngest, Conor, who was 3 years old when he became part of my life (much more on Conor in his own bio section, as he’s also in the wedding party); her eldest son, Jim, was already out on his own and living in another state, so I didn’t get to know Jim quite as well until several years later. She eventually would relocate to New York City when she married “he that shall not be named”, and I missed her terribly. But we kept in very regular touch, and we still counted on each other through the various highs and lows in our respective relationships. But it was my relationship that would deteriorate first. She was literally there for me anytime, day or night. And thank God for that, as the final straw in the relationship happened at 2 a.m. California time, while I was managing a local bar. Repeating that story isn’t necessary here (as the sting of it is long gone), but it’s worth remembering that the person I was able to call at 2 a.m. (which was 5 a.m. her time!), was Pat. Not only was she fine with being woken up at that horrible hour, but she insisted that I stop apologizing for it, and assured me that she would have been upset if I hadn’t called her when I was in that much pain – regardless of the hour. It was Pat who got me through that devastating night, and even got me to a point where I could go back into work and close up the bar. Over the next days and weeks, she was there for me whenever I needed to talk – and I needed to talk a lot during that time. I will forever be grateful to Pat for getting me through it all.

As time went on, the friendship continued to stay strong, and her New York apartment became my “home away from home” whenever I traveled back to the city. She was the kind of friend who always knew what I had going on, and what my hopes and dreams were; she always was there with encouragement and enthusiasm for whatever I was doing. Pat was (and still is) one of my biggest cheerleaders. A constant rock in my life that I can count on and hold on to whenever I need it. So I was glad to be able to return the favor when her marriage ended. That’s her story to tell, though, not mine. But what I can honestly say is that no man in the world could be luckier than to have the love of Pat – and as her very close friendship with her first husband (and father to her three children) has proven over many years, that even when the privilege of calling her your wife has ended, she will still be the best friend an ex husband could have. She’s living proof that even when one type of love has ended, there is always a way to find another type of love for that person. She doesn’t have a mean or vindictive bone in her body, and her heart and the extent of her capacity for love is immeasurable.

Pat continued to be a very important person in my life as I made the move to Los Angeles, to pursue my dreams in Hollywood. Always there to cheer me on as I began to make my breaks into the industry, and always there to reassure me when things didn’t go exactly as I hoped. As most people know, I had the great joy of loving three wonderful dogs (Duke, Blackie and Sadie), who had traveled with me from New York City. I lost Sadie right before the move to Los Angeles, and sadly, lost Blackie a year or so later. Suddenly my little “family” was just me and Duke. Now, you never want to play favorites when you love your animals – and I won’t do that now. But I will say that Duke was the one who slept in my arms every night for the 14 years I had him. He was the one who protected me on more than one occasion when I was faced with violence. He was the one that was there with me, day and night, through the ups and downs of 14 years. And Pat knew just how important he was to me. So it was out of sheer luck that she happened to be visiting her daughter, Molly, in San Diego the day he died. And as I returned to my now empty apartment, after his passing at my vet’s office, the phone rang. It was Pat. She didn’t know about Duke (as it had happened so suddenly that morning), but was calling to see if I could take a couple of days away and come spend some time with her in San Diego. Her timing was impeccable. Once again, it was Pat who rescued me from the devastating loneliness that comes when a beloved pet passes away. I jumped in the car, and in a couple of hours, I was with the one person who just knew how to make it all feel a little bit better. She arranged for me to join her and Molly at an event they were going to in Mexico the next day, and over the next few days, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Once again, Pat to the rescue.

So it’s not surprising that it was Pat who began the chain of events that would eventually lead me to Perry. Knowing how much I missed New York City, and knowing that I was eager to move back, she called me in early 2010 and made a crazy suggestion: why don’t I consider spending the summer in New York. Her roommate was going to be out of town for July, and she would be out of town for two weeks in August. She had already confirmed with him that it was fine if I took his room while he was gone, and then would take her room while she was gone – and for the last two weeks, I could stay on the couch. She suggested that I find a subletter for my apartment, and that once I was in New York, I’d have virtually no expenses for the summer, other than occasionally pitching in for food. That way, I could see if New York was a viable option for me in terms of work, etc. And if so, I could plan to find my own place, and if not, I could go back to L.A. and resume life back there. As crazy as it seemed to just up and go with two weeks notice, it was exactly the impetus that I needed to make the transition back to New York again. I was able to get a long-term ongoing sublet for my L.A. apartment, and so I packed up my personal things and put everything I’d need for the summer (and potentially longer) in my car, and the rest went into a storage unit. And off I went to New York. It turned out to be the best decision. Pat and I had a ball living together that July. We took advantage of everything that New York has to offer, and spent a much needed month of quality time together. Also, having two months without bills to pay allowed me the ability to save up some money, so it wasn’t long before I was able to move into my own place. There are far too many things to thank her for from that summer and during that transition to mention here. But I hope she knows how eternally grateful I am that she gave me the opportunity to relocate back to the city that I love, and to once again be closer to my family.

When I first met Perry, Pat was one of the first people who I would tell about him. Always the cheerleader and always the voice of reason, she made sure I kept my feet on the ground in the midst of the excitement of new love. But when she finally was able to meet him, she gave her resounding approval, which mean the world to me, because if there is anyone who has been a firsthand witness to my past relationships, it’s Pat. She’s the kind of friend who would have told me if she didn’t think Perry was right for me – and as a matter of fact, I was even nervous the day I introduced them, because I really wanted Perry to be “the one”! But Pat said several things that day that I will never forget (while Perry was out of earshot, that is): First off, she told me that she thought he was wonderful (too true!); Secondly, she told me what she loved about our dynamic together was that he was truly paying attention to me and listening to every word I said and taking it in (something that can’t be said about my ex’s, which Pat well knows); Thirdly, she told me that she could not only see that he was in love with, but that he genuinely liked me, which, to her, meant that it was the solid foundation for the friendship part of a relationship that is so vital to it succeeding; and lastly, she said “Tell your mother that I love Perry, and think that he’s very right for you!” That’s another example of how full her heart is: not only did she want me to be happy, but she wanted to be sure my parents would know that I was finally in a good relationship… which she knew would bring them a bit of comfort and relief.

Pat is one of those people that you’re lucky to know. When I lived with her in her upper west side apartment, everyone in the building knew her. She was the one who was always there for any of her neighbors who needed a helping hand. She’s an accomplished chef, and if someone is ill, she’s there with a beautiful hot dinner (and enough food for the next few meals). She was the one in the building that everyone gave their keys to, because they knew she’d water plants or get mail and generally look out for things while they were away. And, of course, when anyone needed a friend or a shoulder to cry on, Pat was always there… always had time – regardless of what she had going on personally. Living there that summer, I could feel just how loved she was by all of the people in that building. Before I wrap up, I have to share one last quick story. When Perry’s birthday came around in March of 2013 (which would be his first official birthday in New York), I wanted it to be as special as possible. When we were in New Orleans, I had the great joy to try a piece of “dobash” cake. Perry was very excited for me to try it, as it’s a New Orleans specialty, and something he had grown up with his whole life. So I thought that having a “dobash” cake for him would be a perfect end to the big day I was planning on his birthday. But none of the bakeries in New York had even heard of a “dobash” cake… and to have one delivered from New Orleans would have been very costly. So I called Pat to see if she knew of any specialty bakeries that might do a custom order cake like that. Her answer? “I’ll make it!” Now, as anyone who’s ever tasted Pat’s food can tell you, the woman can do ANYTHING in the kitchen! She really ought to have her own restaurant. But even she wasn’t sure what this “dobash” cake was, and all I could tell her, was that it was a lot of thin layers of white cake with amazing chocolate filling in between. Before I knew it, she had unearthed the recipe – as well as the correct spelling of the cake: Doberge. She even discovered the history of the cake, and how it came to be in New Orleans, and even why the pronunciation of it was different than the spelling of it!. Needless to say, when she arrived for Perry’s birthday, she had with her the most beautiful cake you’ve ever seen. Only to be outdone by the moist rich delicious flavors that you experienced with your first bite. That of course, is all wonderful… but what I would find out later, is that to make a proper Doberge cake, you need to have specialty pans, and that the cake takes a full two days to fully bake and assemble! This wasn’t just baking a cake for someone, this was taking a full two days to create a masterpiece. But that’s Pat. She doesn’t think about what the hassle might be when it’s doing something for someone she cares about. She’s more concerned with making the people she loves happy. And that night, Perry had a wonderful connection to his New Orleans heritage, all done with love by someone who cares about him.

I can unequivocally say that it is a privilege to call her my friend, and to know that I have a place in her heart. I’m honored and touched at how she’s also taken Perry into her heart (although not surprised, as that is her nature). And I hope that she knows just how embedded she is in my heart. So it was without hesitation that I asked her to stand with me at our wedding. She’s such a part of me, and it will mean the world to have her as an important part of that day, cheering for me, as she’s always done with that sparkle of love in her eyes that has touched the hearts of all who know and love her.

Conor is Pat Smith’s son, and when I first met him, he was a 3 year old reincarnation of myself as a child. A child of such precociousness, with the most devilish smile you’ve ever seen. So, of course, I immediately adored him! I was in my late 20’s at the time, and as Conor and I had a very mutual fascination for each other, I often became a regular babysitter for him. Pat knew she could call me in a pinch, if she needed someone to look after him, and she knew that he felt comfortable and safe with me. After Pat relocated to New York City, there were several occasions he stayed with me for multiple days, as his father (a United test pilot, who still lived fairly close to me in the Bay Area) would occasionally be required to take unexpected trips out of town while Conor was visiting. It got so that I would hope that Marty would be called out of town while Conor was visiting, so that I could get him for a few days. They were tiring days, of course, but they were also a lot of fun. My dogs adored him and he adored them. He could poke or prod – or even attempt to ride on my 85 pound lab/collie Duke, and Duke would just wag his tail and lick Conor’s face. He was an amazing kid. Full of boundless energy and always happy. That impish smile was forever on his face, and it always made you wonder “uh oh, what did he do now?” My mother particularly liked when I would take care of Conor, because I’d call her up often while he was staying with me, to tell her what antics he had just gotten into, which always brought a response of: “I LOVE it! It serves you right after all you put ME through when you were that age!” Like me as a child, Conor was never a bad child, but he was definitely very active! I’ll never forget the day that he was sitting with me in the kitchen while I was making his lunch. On the kitchen table where I had put him, there was a enormous bowl filled with beautiful green apples that we had just bought. I was talking to him while I prepared the lunch, but physically had my back to him (HUGE mistake!). When I finally turned around with his lunch, I realized that he had taken a huge bite out of each of the apples and had then proceeded to place them all back into the bowl, just as I had originally had them. So now, in front of me, was the enormous bowl of shiny new apples, each one sporting a huge bite out of it! (My mother and Pat both greatly enjoy that story, even to this day!).

Another day, I told him that if he promised to behave and follow all of my rules, that we would go to this amazing indoor playground. It was one of those huge series of tunnels and rope ladders and slides. It took up literally 3 stories of this building, and was a paradise for an adventurous child – especially a child like Conor. His eyes were size of bowling balls when he saw this mecca of climbing and tunneling laid out in front of him. And then that little smile crossed his face – the smile that told you that you were in for trouble. So I sat him down and made him promise that he would not go out of my sight. I told him that we could climb and tunnel and explore for as long as he wanted to, but that if he didn’t stop and wait for me when I told him to wait, that we’d have to leave. That seemed a reasonable request to me, and with all the sincerity he mustered, he said in his little impish voice: “I promise, Henry! Now LET’S GO!!”. So, in we went. Now, the place was smart, they give each child a colored bracelet with a number on it, and the adult gets a matching one – that way, no kid can leave without the proper adult with them. And thank God for that, because the minute we were through the gate, Conor tore like a bat out of hell! I’ve never seen a kid run so fast! So I bounded after him. At first I attempted to keep up, but as you can well imagine, these tunnels are not built tall enough for an adult to quickly walk through. And where an adult may need to crouch or even crawl on his knees, a 4 year old like Conor, could just stand straight up and run. And run he did! I did my best to keep up, calling out to him in front of me to slow down so he didn’t lose me. To which, he responded with the raucous happy laugh that so often accompanied the experience of Conor getting away with something he knew was wrong. So, I rounded that next corner as fast as I could, but all I saw ahead of me in that tunnel was the blur of the red shirt he was wearing as he turned the next corner. “Conor – slow down, I can’t keep up with you.” I called out. “Hahahahahaha” came the response echoing down the tunnel. Soon, I got worried, though. He was tearing through these tunnels SO fast, and in each of the caverns connecting the tunnels, were ladders and slides and other tunnels that would take you in any number of directions in this three story maze. I thought to myself “Oh my God, Pat is going to KILL me if I lose him in here – because I’ll never find him again!” I had forgotten about the matching bracelets by this point, and was more in a panic to keep up with him. “CONOR! Slow DOWN!” I’d call out. The responding laughter was the only way to know which direction he had gone in. Well, that little bugger outran me for the next 25 minutes, as I crouched, climbed and crawled on my now sore hands and knees to try to keep up with him. And then he reached a dead end. He turned around, realizing that the jig was about to be up, but in true Conor style, he saw that there was still an offshoot of another tunnel between his dead end and the direction that I was coming from. It was his one chance. And in spite of my admonishments to stay where he was til I got there, he decided to make another run for it! But not without first flashing that sinister little smile of his that was equal parts adorable and maddening. And boom! Faster than a canon, he was off again. But this time, he had to run towards me to get to his next escape, and even though he was closer to the other tunnel than I was, I lunged like a Olympian at the finish line, and just barely managed to grab the back of his red shirt as he turned the corner. Finally captured, he laughed hysterically at his little game. And as much as I was ready to kill him by that point, I couldn’t help but want to laugh a little bit too. He had, after all, done brilliantly, and did exactly what I would have done at 4 years old myself. But as I was the caretaker of this little imp at the time, I knew I had to use it as a teaching moment/time out. So I tried to speak as firmly as I could, as I sat him down in the dead end (firmly blocking his escape route!). “Now, Conor, you know why I’m upset, don’t you?” “Yes,” he said with his big, now innocent eyes looking up at me. “What did I ask you to do when we came here?” “To stay with you.” “That’s right. And what did YOU do?” “I ran off,” “Yes, you did. And what did I tell you would happen if you ran off?” “That we would have to leave.” By this point, the once happy face was starting to turn sad, turning on the perfect puppy dog look. I thought “uh oh, I don’t want to make the kid cry!” (Rookie mistake!) Ok, change tactics – keep the kid from crying. “So why did you run off when I asked you not to?” To which the cat-ate-the-canary smile quickly returned to his face, as he responded with “Because it was fun”. It’s those moments with a child, that you want to pull them into your arms and give them a huge hug and tell them how much you love them! But, of course, you can’t let them know just how adorable you thought they have just been. So, instead, I said “You know, if you kept running away and I lost you in these tunnels, your Mommy might not ever let you come back and stay with me again.” “She wouldn’t?” “Nope. She needs to know that she can trust me to take care of you. And I’d be really sad if you couldn’t come stay with me again.” And this devilish smile turned to a sweet smile of innocence as he said “I’d be sad too.” I then gave him a hug and told him he could have a second chance, as long as he promised not to misbehave again. He gave me his word, and true to his word, he was good the rest of the afternoon.

As Conor continued to grow up, I watched him go from an adorable little boy to an incredibly insightful and intelligent teenager. I don’t think he would mind my saying that he was eventually diagnosed with A.D.H.D., as I had been diagnosed myself just a few years earlier. Having not gotten my diagnosis until adulthood, I missed out on all of the incredible support that Conor was able to receive in school. A.D.H.D. kids are often incredibly bright (many testing quite high on the I.Q. scale), and are quite usually very creative. They are also incredibly resourceful, because they have to learn the survival techniques that come along with a brain that moves 10 times faster than the average person. As my diagnosis opened up a whole world of understanding to me about my personality and how and why my brain worked the way it did, I was able to be a great deal of help to Pat and to Conor by sharing my experiences. So in addition to the bonding that we had during those years that he was 3, 4, 5 and 6, as he got older, he knew that I truly understood what he was going through in life and in school. He knew he could talk to me about anything, and that I’d never judge him. So it was during those early and mid-teenage years when I’d come to New York to visit Pat, that I’d be warned “Conor’s gotten to that age where he doesn’t talk much to adults.” Pat, always worrying about everyone’s feelings, wanted to be sure that my feelings weren’t hurt if Conor didn’t interact with me the way he did when he younger. And I knew that was a possibility… after all, most kids hit that age where they’re a little too cool to be gushing over their parent’s friends. But, no matter what they all expected Conor to do when I’d come to town, he’d always surprise them when he’d come in and see me in the apartment. The same signature smile he had as a kid would break across his face, and the usually quiet and reserved teenager they were used to having at home, would start to talk a blue streak. It was during his teenage years that we discovered that we had very much the same sense of humor when it came to comedies. So whenever I was coming to town, Conor had a stack of movies and TV show DVD’s that he had for us to watch together. Conor was responsible for my addiction to more than a few shows; most especially “Entourage,” which I had no interest in watching, as I lived in Los Angeles, and figured I didn’t need to see a show about spoiled movie stars. But he insisted, and I was hooked from the first episode, as we sat in his bedroom watching the show together.

I remember one particular trip that Pat and I took up to my visit my parents in Rochester. Conor was still in high school at the time, but it was summer break, and he had been to some kind of program for high school kids that was being held at the University of Rochester. So it was decided that we would pick him up from that, and he’d then spend a couple of days with us at my parents, and travel back with us to New York (with a stop at my sister Katie’s house in Ithaca for a couple of days of kayaking in her lake). Pat had, of course, given the usual warning to my parents that Conor might be a little quiet and keep to himself, but that she hoped he’d at least enjoy being there, as he had known them since he was a little kid as well. My father still jokes about who the kid was that Pat thought she was bringing to their house. Conor was the same with my parents as he had been whenever I’d come to town. They were thrilled to have him there, and had so much fun with him, in fact, that they decided to accompany us to Katie’s that week! My parents have a huge luxury camper that they travel the country with, and my sister’s husband created a full service campsite adjacent to their house, complete with electricity and water hook ups, and everything you could ever need while camping. Since the house is sort of in the woods and surrounded by huge trees, it even feels like you’re on a camping trip. So, even though my sister’s house is amazing and spacious, we always seem to find ourselves hanging out in the camper. Conor thought the camper was amazing and was quite eager to have the “camper hang out experience” with the Farnam’s, that Dad agreed to bring the camper along to Katie’s for the days that we’d be there. That spoke volumes to how much he liked having Conor around during that visit. Well, we ended up having an amazing few days there on Katie’s lake. Kayaking and barbecuing and hiking with the kids. Conor loved it. And Pat was thrilled that he was getting the experience of being out in the country, as he had grown up in New York City since he was quite little. The kids adored him, of course, and we all had an amazing little mini vacation. But it was hanging out in the camper that was particularly memorable. My Dad had told Conor to make himself at home – eat whatever he wanted to eat, and get himself whatever he wanted to drink. And it was clear how much Conor loved feeling at home with everyone and feeling a part of our very amusing and energetic family. Conor mentioned to me several times how laid back my parents were and how much fun it was to just hang out and laugh. Just how clearly he felt at home in the camper came to light that night after Pat had gone into the house to bed. The subject turned to ice cream. Most of us were still full from dinner, but the now 6 foot (plus) teenager was hungry again. Dad told him to have whatever ice cream he wanted from the freezer (as there are always multiple choices at the Farnam household!). By this time he knew where the spoons were kept, and I remember him grabbing one and then pulling a half gallon of ice cream out of the freezer. Whereupon, he carried both back to the couch and sat down, ready to eat from the carton. He must have noticed the curious looks he was getting from around the room, because he quickly pulled the spoon away from the now open carton and somewhat sheepishly, with a tinge of embarrassment, said “Oh, should I get a bowl?” Which was followed by the loudest peal of laughter you ever heard from all of us sitting in that camper. Quickly, Conor realized how funny the situation was, and he too began laughing. This may be one of those “you had to be there” stories, but it’s a favorite memory of mine and my family. And I should mention that his mother did not, at first, find it quite as funny as we all did, when she found out the next morning that her teenage son was going to eat directly out of the ice cream carton at a house where he is a guest. But soon she, too, realized that what mattered the most was how much we all loved having Conor around, and how much he enjoyed being with all of us.

As the years progressed, I was exceedingly proud of all that he achieved in school, and having been an A.D.H.D. kid myself, I know how hard it often was for him. Creative intelligence coupled with attention inconsistency is a tough combination. But Conor made all of us extremely proud when his hard work got him into an amazing college in Oregon. And before I knew it, this once little imp who ran me ragged (and made me laugh so hard), had become an adult. And through the last couple of years while he’s been at college, he has become a person that I greatly respect and admire. We’re now equals and adult friends, and I’m happy to say that my affection for him is even stronger than it was when he was that cute little kid who ate my apples. And although I have my own nephew and niece now, Conor will always be my first shot at being an “uncle” figure. And through the years of close connection, not only with his mother, Pat, but also with his amazing brother Jim, and his gorgeous sister Molly (who is easily one of my favorite people on the planet), I consider Conor to be family. He may not be a blood relative, but he’s family, nonetheless. When I first met Conor, I was still in a relationship with my ex, Doug. So Conor got to know the two of us together. After that breakup, Conor wasn’t much more than about 4 or 5, I would guess, and he would ask his mother “what happened to Henry’s brother?”. As he got older, he discovered what that relationship truly was, and thanks to the wonderful parenting of Pat, there never had to be any “coming out” discussions with Conor. He just got it from the beginning, and even when he was in the very early years of High School, he’d often ask me “are you dating any new guys?” I could always see, even in his early teens, that he hoped that I would fall in love and be happy with someone. So when Perry came into my life, Conor heard about it fairly early on from his mother. He immediately got in touch with me to let me know that he was so happy that I had found someone. And when he was home for his first college break after Perry had moved in, Conor was very eager to meet him. During our dinner that night, Conor gave me a much appreciated thumbs up. Conor visited again not long after we were engaged, and as we now so often do when he’s in town, he came over to hang at our apartment and get Chinese takeaway from Ollie’s Noodle House. When he got there, we told him about the engagement. An enormous smile quickly spread across his face, and he pulled us both in for bear hugs. Never have I seen such honest and genuine joy from someone getting news about someone else’s good fortune. It’s moments like those when you realize just how much you mean to another person. And so when it came time to decide who to ask to be in my wedding party, I said to Perry “I’m asking Conor. He means the world to me, and I know our wedding will mean just as much to him.”  Perry wholeheartedly agreed. And so that day, I got Conor on Skype, so I could ask him face to face. You can still see the face of the 3 year old I first knew when you look at Conor. But now that face is the face of a grown man. But when I asked him to be in my wedding party, as his eyes lit up and the smile spread across his face, it reminded me of the joy I saw on that same face almost 20 years ago when he got the second chance to play longer in the tunnels. Just as it was as child, when Conor smiles, it’s pure joy, and you can’t help but smile too. So I’m thrilled that Conor will be there, standing with me on that very special day when I commit my life to Perry. And I look forward to children to come, that one day Conor will get to babysit for us. I just hope they take a bite out of every one of his apples!

Michele is McKenzie’s sister, and so I got to know her as I became close to the Westmore family. It wasn’t long before Michele went from being “Kenz’s sister”, to one of my most trusted and cherished friends. Michele is one of those people that you hope will be there when you show up to a party or to a family event. You know the second you hear her voice, that you will have a lot of laughs and a lot of fun. And so that’s how our friendship blossomed. We both got a great kick out of each other, and always made each other laugh… so it’s natural that we gravitated toward each other. But Michele is not just a “good time” girl, she also has great depth. I saw this the very first time on my first Christmas with the Westmore family. They had been kind enough to include me, as I was unable to go home for Christmas that year – and they made me feel like part of the family. Well, as the presents were being given out, Michele had bought something very special for her brother, Michael. Something that had significance, and she wanted to give it to him in front of the family. As she explained the gift and what it meant, her eyes filled with tears, as she described the love she had for her older brother. It was beyond touching. I knew then just how big and wonderful Michele’s heart truly was. And I would find the truth of that out many many times personally in the years to come. Michele has a lot of her mother in her, and so she’s also fiercely protective of her family and is very careful about who she let’s in to the inner circle. So when the day comes that you discover that you’re one of Michele’s closest friends, you know that you’ve truly earned that place in her life. She’s incredibly social and everyone loves hanging out with her, but it’s a rare few who actually get to the inner circle. And it’s a great honor if you’re lucky enough to be one of those people.

For me, it happened when I started to spend more time with Michele (and her then husband, Tony) away from the family events. What began as a “come up to Santa Clarita for Sushi and spend the night”, became a bi-weekly event for us. And it was during those overnights that Michele and I stayed up talking until the middle of the night, telling each other our deepest secrets and sharing our hopes and dreams for the future. As these overnights went on, Tony would inevitably head up to bed, while Michele and I would sit on her L-shaped couch and talk about everything in the world. Eventually, we would talk so late that we’d both doze off mid-conversation… with her laying down one side of the “L” and me laying down the other side of the “L”, with our heads right next to each other in the center on the comfy pillows that we’d inevitably have laid down on as we got too tired to actually sit up any longer. The first night that we fell asleep so soundly in that position that we never woke up to actually go to bed, Tony found us there sound to sleep in the morning. With a smile on his face, Tony joked that I was the only man he’d ever allow to sleep with his wife. I give Tony a lot of credit here as well, because there was never an ounce of concern or worry that his wife had slept next to me, knowing that Michele and I were like brother and sister. Not all straight guys can be that relaxed about a situation like that. But after that first night of falling asleep talking on that L-shaped couch, it became a tradition for Michele and I on those sushi nights (or, in fact, any night I came up to spend the night in Santa Clarita)… and those nights were finally dubbed “Henry and Michele’s Slumber Party”. Even if there was a houseful of people for a party, with people spending the night, Michele and I would always inevitably end up on that couch talking about everything in the world until we fell asleep. To say that I loved those nights is an understatement. I treasure them. And I miss them greatly, even to this day.

So, finally, our fun friendship had evolved into a very close and very full friendship. Of course, the fun was definitely still there! It would take me several pages to detail the amazing memories I have with Michele, but here are a few that I think you’ll all enjoy (as I know that I did when they were happening!):

As my friendship with Tony was also growing, he started really enjoying having me around. The three of us had the most amazing times together, always filled with lots of laughter. One night, Michele admitted to me that Tony said he trusted me – emphasizing how big of a deal that was for Tony. She explained that he liked a lot of people, but he didn’t trust anyone until they deserved it. So she wanted me to know just how much that meant that Tony trusted me, and how much he liked having me around. And when they took a weekend trip to Laguna, they invited me along. I don’t think Michele or Tony would mind me mentioning at this point that their marriage had evolved into more of a friendship – their nicknames for each other was even “Pal”. I think it’s safe to say that it’s not so much that the romance died between them, but that it evolved into exactly what it was meant to be: the closest of friendships. As a matter of fact, they’ve gone through the most amicable of divorces, remaining very close friends to this day. Tony will even be at our wedding – as he is still a part of all our lives and firmly embedded in all of our hearts. And Michele is now happily with a man who I have an incredible amount of respect for, and who I love spending time with, named Martin. So things have worked out beautifully on that front!

So, going back, inviting me along on that first trip to Laguna was not really out of the ordinary. And boy, did we have fun! A couple of days of hanging on the beach (with amazing cocktails, of course!), boogie-boarding, walking through the town of Laguna on our way to incredible dinners. Even meeting Ponce, the gayest jewelry dealer in the world, who was a story unto himself! The weekend in Laguna was amazing, and we decided that I should travel with them again. I have to mention that it was on the drive home that Michele and I had our now legendary jelly bean experience. So, picture this: we’re driving up the 405 (stuck in traffic as usual!) after this very leisurely weekend away. Tony is driving, with Michele in the passenger seat, and me in the backseat like their overgrown child. And I’m starving! Michele tells me that she has jelly beans. (Of course she does – even her e-mail address had the word “jellbell” in it!). Now, I’m not a jelly bean fan, but at this point, stuck in traffic that has no end in sight, I was willing to eat anything! What she didn’t tell me at first, though, was these were not ordinary jellybeans. No, these were Harry Potter jellybeans! And if you haven’t had the experience of those strange little gummy confections, let me tell you that the first bite into one did not exactly ring out the expected “sweet flavor” of a normal jellybean. I said to Michele “what the hell is this? It tastes like GRASS!”. To which a peal of laughter echoed from the front seat. When they finally stopped laughing, I was told about them being Harry Potter beans. To which I responded “Yuck! It’s TERRIBLE!”. So what do I then hear from the front seat? “Here, try THIS one!”, as her perfectly manicured hand reached over her shoulder, holding another oddly colored bean between two long fingernails. So, of course, what would any thinking intelligent person do in this situation? Well, take another Harry Potter bean, of course! That one was Popcorn. Ok, not too terrible. But that was followed by beans flavored as dirt, earwax and even vomit! After each bean, I’d scream out in agony from the disgusting taste, and the laughter would erupt from the front seat, followed by another bean coming in my direction between two French manicured nails! I think I probably tried every flavor during that traffic jam, and it lead to a very funny ride home.

There were more trips to follow. One of the more legendary trips, was our trip to Las Vegas one spring. Tony and Michele were only going for a couple of days, but I had a few extra days to spare, and decided to stay on after they left and do some writing, and catch up with some Vegas-based friends. So we drove separately. But we did caravan, as we figured we could arrive at the same time and get our first celebratory drink together at Caesar’s Palace soon after we arrived. Now, there is much debate over the details of this particular drive to Vegas, but here’s my version of the events that spring morning. I had spent the night at Tony and Michele’s so that we could leave first thing the next morning. When we left, it was decided that Michele would drive and be the lead car, and I would follow. Now, I don’t want to say that Michele is a speed demon, but I will mention that I’ve never known anyone who is so well versed and experienced in the art of fighting a speeding ticket. I, myself, had a bit of a history of being a ticket-magnet when I was in my early 20’s, and during those years, I spent far too much on fines. In the years after that, and especially by this point in my life, I had gotten used to sticking fairly close to the speed limit, to avoid the stress (and expense) of a ticket. Money was a bit tight at that point, and so I mentioned to Michele not to speed like crazy, as I couldn’t afford a speeding ticket. She let me know that we would be on desert roads, and that nobody ever gets ticketed on those roads to Vegas. Famous last words! As we were about an hour and a half outside of Vegas, we were moving at a rather, how shall I put it… brisk pace! I called her on my cell and told her I was worried about our speed. She pointed out that we were going as fast as everyone else, and reminded me again that nobody ever gets ticketed on that road to Vegas. Hence, fate was tempted, and fate fought back. Within 10 minutes, we were all over on the side of the road enjoying our own personal interviews with traffic cops. To say it was a speed trap is an understatement. The cops were literally standing in the middle of the highway directing every car to pull to the side that the helicopters had clocked from above. When my turn came, all I could think was “I can’t afford this ticket! I need to get out of it!”. So when the cop asked me if I knew how fast I was going, I told him “No, I was following my friend in the white car in front of me, so I didn’t get lost on the way to Vegas”. He said “So, in other words, she picked the speed?”. I said yes before I quite realized that I had just implicated one of my best friends! Oops! “But Michele can surely get out of this ticket,” I thought, “she’s an expert at it!”. And after all, she had chosen the speed we were driving at, and I didn’t really want to be driving that fast. Surely that had to count for something in my favor. I hoped the cop would show me some mercy and let me slide with a warning. No such luck. And not only did this guy write me the full ticket, with the incriminating 89 miles per hour noted on it, he then proceeded to go back to Michele’s car and say “Your friend back there just threw you under the bus!” and continued to tell her and Tony how I had tried to get out of a ticket by blaming it on her. When we finally were signaled back onto the highway again, the phone quickly rang. It was Michele, wanting to know why I threw her under the bus! Now, to Michele’s credit, she knew that I wasn’t trying to get her into trouble… but she got great mileage out of giving me a hard time that weekend for my little lapse in judgment! The words “put my drink on his tab, because he threw me under the bus with a cop” were heard by many a bartender that weekend! But in the end, nobody was really hurt by this little scenario, as we both got the speeding tickets we deserved for driving the speed we were driving. And, the weekend that followed was beyond fun! We had a ball together, as always, and we will all look back on that Vegas weekend with a lot of affection and great memories.

But Michele isn’t just a fun and games kind of friend. She’s a true friend, through and through. If ever I needed anything, she was always there for me. She’s as loyal a friend as you could ever hope for, and to say that she stuck by me through thick and thin is an understatement. She has always had my back, no matter what. At one point, someone in our close knit circle (who is no longer in the picture), took a dislike to me, and tried to cut me out. There were untruths told, which put me in a rather bad light, and I suddenly found myself feeling as if my good name and intentions were being questioned. But Michele would have none of it. She was very clear that the issue had nothing to do with me, and that I was just the unfortunate casualty of this bad situation. But she made sure that everyone important to me on the inner circle knew to ignore anything they heard. She made sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to my intentions and my commitment and love for the people on our inner circle. I found out later that nobody I cared about took any of it to heart anyway, and that my position in the inner circle wasn’t really in jeopardy. But it was Michele who took it upon herself to be very vocal about it and to be sure I didn’t lose a minute of sleep over worrying about this situation – even if it meant putting herself in the line of fire with the person in question. That’s a true friend. To say that you can take Michele Westmore’s word “to the bank” is and understatement. I would trust the girl with my life, and I trust her in ways that I cannot even put into words. And I know that I’ve been a trusted and much needed friend in her life as well. But that’s her story to tell. All I will say on that, is that I’m honored to have been there for her through everything I’ve helped her face.

And although the last story that I will tell (as I could literally go on and on, and trust me – they’re ALL good stories!), is one that goes back in time a little bit. This was just around the time of the beginnings of our “slumber parties”, and Michele had to go in for some surgery. It was expected to be a routine operation, after which she’d recover at her parent’s house, and then be back up and on her feet in a few days. Never wanting to miss an opportunity to spend time with Michele, and not wanting her to have to sit alone during the hours her husband and other family members were working, I made plans to go over and spend the days with her at her parents. Her recovery seemed fairly easy and straightforward, so I knew we’d have the usual laughs and great conversations we were used to. Except that something went wrong. Suddenly a leg cramp started to bother her and wouldn’t go away, and soon she was back in the hospital with a diagnosis that nobody wanted to hear: blood clot. I remember the call from McKenzie, telling me that Michele was in serious danger. I had my keys in my hand and was out of the house faster than if it were on fire. Nothing would keep me from being there at the hospital to be there for Michele, and for this family who had made me feel like one of their own. It was touch and go for a while, and there were some very difficult days, as we waited to see what would happen. The doctors were doing everything they could for it, but as we all found out, these things can go either way. So losing Michele was a distinct possibility. And losing this amazing and much loved angel in our lives would be a tragedy that none of us would ever truly recover from. Many prayers were said in those days. But we were also told that one of the key things for all of us to keep in mind, was that it was actually dangerous for Michele if she were to get stressed and nervous about the blood clot. The elevated heartbeat and panic that often comes along with knowing that you have an imminent life threatening condition can be fatal. So we were told that it had to be kept light with Michele. In truth, the only people who really knew just how serious the condition was, and how close we actually were to losing her, were her parents… who never let it show. They kept us all calm and grounded, so that we could support Michele in the best way possible. It’s just one of the many many many  things that admire about Mike and Marion (but more on them in their own section, as they’ll be part of the extended wedding party as well). Well, during those days that Michele was in the hospital, I was there whenever I could be. We all worked out a routine and schedule, so that there’d always be someone with her, but that she wouldn’t be overwhelmed with too many guests and too much activity. I became the “night watchman”, so to speak. By the time dinner came around, everyone started to say their goodnight’s and go home for some much needed rest. And I stayed with her until the nurses kicked me out – often staying later than visiting hours, because the nurses thought my company was good for Michele. If she needed to sleep, I’d just sit quietly and let her doze off… and when she’d wake up, I’d be there if she felt like chatting again. But it was sitting in that hotel room with her, watching her sleep, knowing how her life was hanging in the balance, that I realized just how much I loved her. And just how special she was to me. Of course, I knew it prior to this on one level. But it’s when faced with a situation like this, that you truly realize how deep your feelings go. Michele is honestly one of the strongest people that I know. She can handle anything. Nothing scares her (not even crazy drunk girls that started a “crouching tiger/hidden dragon” cat fight with us one night at sushi). And she never backs down from a fight when she knows she’s in the right. I admire her strength and her courage. As a “middle child”, it’s said she should technically be the one with the problems in her three child family. But instead, she’s a pillar of strength and achievement. If she wants something, she sets her mind to it, and makes it happen. And when she wanted to live, as she sat there on the brink in the hospital, she made up her mind that living was the only option. But as I watched her sleep in that hospital room, filled with gratitude for all that she was in my life, I didn’t see her as the strong and powerful woman that she had become, or as the life of the party that we all look so forward to being around… instead, I saw the innocent face of a pretty little girl, that same pretty little girl that I had seen in so many family pictures from her childhood. And I knew that in front of me, was sleeping an angel. And I asked God to not take that angel from us quite yet. And I’m eternally grateful that he didn’t.