Cancer Research UK is about to increase its wealth -- once a signed honeymoon photograph of the Prince and Princess of Wales is auctioned.

The photograph reportedly came from an unnamed member of the Royal Household and had been purchased by a collector. Taken on the Royal Estate at Balmoral just days after the wedding of Charles and Diana, it's Diana's signature prominently displayed on the photograph -- it reads, Lots of Love, Diana.

The auction, organized by a businesswomen whose lost her mother-in-law to breast cancer, will take place on June 9 at a charity ball at the London Marriott Hotel, Grosvenor Square. It is expected to sell for £3,000.

Chances are, someone you love has breast cancer. And if not now, one day this is likely to be true -- because one in eight women will develop an invasive form of the disease at some point during her lifetime.

If and when it happens to you, when you find yourself saying, Someone I love has breast cancer, one of the first things you'll consider is how you might help. It's a natural feeling -- the urge to reach out -- and I've got an idea for you if you find yourself searching for the right way to brighten the day for that someone you love.

Think about this:

How about honoring your loved one in a special Ladies' Home Journal website photo gallery? Simply find a photograph that candidly captures the essence of your special someone, why you love her, and how she is surviving the disease.

To submit by e-mail, send your photo digitally in JPEG format to lhj.breastcancer@meredith.com. Type "breast cancer" in the subject line, and include the following information:

Her Name:
Her Age:
Where she lives (City, State):
What LHJ should know about her:
Your Name:
Your Address:
Your Phone Number:
Your e-mail address:

To submit by mail, include the same information and a copy of your photograph. Mail to:

Ladies' Home Journal/Breast Cancer Photo Gallery, 125 Park Avenue, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10017

Deadline: July 11, 2007

I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted.

My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.

Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.