proof.

My mom (hi Mom!) knows that she's my #1 - always has been, always will be. So I think she's pretty comfortable by now knowing that I have another "mom" (aka "Missoula Mom" or "Mama Carol") that I adopted 3 years ago while living in Montana. I say I adopted her, but I think she adopted me. She said I was the daughter she never had. I lived in her home, cried on her shoulder, and even shared my bed with her dog. I'll never forget the time she loaned me money when the brakes on my car needed mending, or the time she first told me she loved me, the way family does. So when she asked me to come to her wedding last month, as both her "daughter" and her photographer, I obviously couldn't say no. Of course I'd be there. I thought it was silly she even felt the need to ask. 

So I went.

I shared the house with family, slept in the basement on an air mattress, and I went to the wedding both as a guest, and as the photographer. But it wasn't until the day after the wedding that I realized we had no proof I'd even been there. I hadn't seen her in three years. Our reunion was a big event, not to mention the marriage, but not one photo was proof that I was a part of it. Not one photo was proof that for the first time as the photographer I didn't wear black, but rather emerald green tights and a floral dress with boots. Not one photo was taken to prove that I had tears in my eyes during the ceremony, or that I danced, just once. Except this one:

I can't believe a month has already passed since this special day and I can't believe the only proof I have is the magic I created, behind the camera, not in front of it. But I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love you Carol! You made a beautiful bride.

Pictures coming soon! :)