I don't imagine any of you are reading this Web site standing up, perhaps pacing within your cubical, clutching a donut and your morning coffee, wondering what's new in the world ... and wondering why you're not sitting down.

But trust me, you should sit down now.

I just came back from my friends' wedding. I had all the intentions of writing it up, all the bliss and pomp and circumstance. I had wanted to write about my Friday night -- the bachelor party -- in which Chris (the groom) opened up, among other treasures, a bottle of 1975 Sauterne (which was unspeakably divine). And I wanted to write about the fantastic rehearsal dinner they had on Saturday, one that was so good I thought that if there were vows, it could have BEEN the wedding.

But it all led up to tonight.

Held at the L.A. River Gardens, the wedding held a special meaning to me. I love the L.A. River; Gab and I even thought about having our wedding at this place. It was beautiful and blessed. Even with a 50% chance of rain forecasted, the sky opened up and breathed a breath of fresh smogless air onto a lovely ceremony.

And then.

I don't know if I can even write it. I'm still so full of tears and disbelief.

The bride's father collapsed on the dance floor. And while I haven't heard the official harsh news, I know it's not good. I know that no matter how much I hope and pray with all of my soul for my dear friends ... I know he's gone.

Please, please let me be wrong.

You know, I'm supposed to be a murder mystery writer. There are so many bodies that litter my first two books: bloody, bruised, and beaten. I hope to have written them convincingly. But what the hell do I know.

When I saw him on the ground, the doctors in the crowd rushing to his side, screaming, "We don't have a pulse!" ... all I could think about was how damn helpless I was. I though to myself, I'm a fucking writer. A writer. What the fuck can I do? All that I've learned, all that I've achieved ... what the fuck? I can't do anything.

I was married two month ago. That could be my dad.

I want to throw up.

But I'm writing this, really, as a testament to my friends. Because through this tragedy arose something pure and good. I guess nobody else really knew how to react. Everyone hugged and kissed and comforted each other like it was all our last day.

We held hands, we cried together, we honestly loved each other unconditionally.

And that feeling, that feeling is NOT worth the pain. But it's good. It's good because it's real. I saw heroes tonight, and I saw that I was not one. I made promises that transcend pettiness. I came expecting a ceremony of love, and I got more love that a hundred ceremonies.

I'm not a very religious man, even though I think I 'm very spiritual. And to be sure, the bride and groom are not very religious either -- the groom even said in his vows that he doesn't believe in things like providence. But he believes in a greater force that brough his wife and him together.

I believe too.

Whether you believe or not, please pray with me-- in whatever way that you know how -- for my friends and their families. May I suggest, if you are able, to call your dad and tell him that you love him.