Juxtaposition

Last week was the worst week of my life, yet it contained the best day, a dichotomy that haunts most of my waking hours.

My 18-month old goddaughter Kathryn passed away in her sleep unexpectedly on Sunday, October 7, six days before I married the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The death stunned our close-knit group of friends and numbed our souls to everything but the sheer unbelievability of our loss. Her father was my best man, but we invited Kathryn's mother to join us at the alter. Their resolve to stand together through the most incomprehensible of tragedies was a symbol of love and strength Jessica and I wanted to have front and center and near us as we exchanged vows in a ceremony that only went on at all with the blessings of the bereaved couple.

The few smiles and laughs Friday's rehearsal dinner and Saturday's wedding provided the parents were more important than symbolic rings or cakes or tossed bouquets. The remembrances of Kathryn, our flower girl even en absentia, made the ceremony complete. There were no Bridezillas or family meltdowns or jilted former lovers popping out of the woodwork during the "if anyone knows why this man and this woman should not be joined" phase of the festivities.

Perspective ruled the events.

Jessica and I lost the most wonderful part of our lives as a couple: our Saturday morning companion, our little housecleaning helper, the love of our lives. But we gained each other like never before and found happiness still waiting just outside our grief, ready to return for a little while and then glad to step back into the shadows until the time for happiness was upon us again.

I am happier right now than I have ever been in my life. I am sadder right now than I have ever been in my life.

More pictures soon.