The Right Man

If two people are meant for each other, it doesn’t mean they have to be together right now or as soon as possible, but they will… eventually.

~Nina Ardianti

“Wait. This is wrong. Why is it you? You’re not supposed to be here!” I woke up just after he smiled and shrugged. Then I realized I was smiling, too. What a silly dream!

I was newly married and forging a life with my husband Andy in New York City. I was slowly getting used to the fast pace, strong language, and absence of personal space. I landed a job in a gift shop to help pay bills between theater auditions, and I was starting to feel like I fit in. But all the hustle and bustle, even at my young age, took its toll. I was exhausted when I returned to our apartment on Staten Island every evening, and I slept like a baby every night.

My slumbers were so sound, in fact, that I rarely dreamt, which is why that particular night was so peculiar. Not only did I have a dream, but it was vivid, the kind where I had to look around when I awoke, making sure it wasn’t real.

I was walking down the aisle at my wedding on the arm of my father, except this didn’t look anything like the actual church wedding I’d celebrated just a few months earlier. This wedding was outside in a beautiful garden in front of a white gazebo. Still, there Dad and I walked, nodding to family members seated around us, smiling and happy.

Then I reached the clergyman standing in front and turned to my handsome groom. It wasn’t Andy. It was my high-school boyfriend, Alan, whom I hadn’t seen since graduation over five years earlier. We had parted friends, wished each other luck, and went our separate ways. But now here he was, about to marry me in my dream. I gasped and exclaimed, “Wait. This is wrong. Why is it you? You’re not supposed to be here!” He smiled and shrugged. He never spoke. My goodness, he looked handsome!

I woke up, laughed, and told Andy about the bizarreness of it all. He laughed too, and we agreed my brain was probably overtired. We never gave it another thought.

Nearly four years later, Andy came home one day and asked if we could talk. He announced that he no longer loved me and he didn’t want to be married anymore. He packed a bag and left, leaving me sitting frozen in a chair, too shocked to speak. The months that followed were bleak as I struggled to get on with my life. There were good days and bad, and I was fortunate to have amazing family and friends to support me. But I was broken.

Then one day there was a message on my answering machine. I listened to it once and then hit “Repeat” because it was too surreal to believe. “Hi. My name is Alan. I’m looking for a girl I used to date in high school named Joan. Is this you? If so, I’d love to catch up. Call me back.” I rewound it again. It had been eight years. How had he found me? Why had he found me?

I called him back, and we talked for hours. Then he called again the next day. And the next. He listened while I told him about my failed marriage, and he told me about his own. He understood all the pain and shame, and we helped each other heal. We also reminisced about high school, all the marching-band trips and homecoming dances, and the years melted away. By the time we finally reunited in person, I already knew I had fallen in love with him. It took a few years because we were both so gun-shy after our previous failures, but one evening he asked me to marry him, and I replied “Yes!” without hesitation.

We started looking for venues and found a lovely resort that specialized in weddings. As they walked us around to the back of the hotel to show us the grounds, I stopped dead in my tracks. I hadn’t thought of that dream in years, but here it was in front of me. There was the garden. There was the white gazebo, exactly as it had appeared in my dream. “This is the one,” I simply told Alan.

The day of our wedding was glorious. Surrounded by the family who had so lovingly supported me through all the dark days, I walked down the aisle holding onto my father’s arm. I reached the clergyman and turned to my smiling, handsome groom. He was definitely supposed to be there.

Today, a lovely framed photo of my groom and me standing in front of that gazebo, overlooking that garden, hangs on our wall. I study it every day. I’m still not sure what that dream meant. Was God trying to warn me that things were going to get a little rough, but there was a greater plan down the road? Who knows? I just tell people that it took me a while, but I finally married the man of my dreams and I wouldn’t change a thing.

— Joan Donnelly-Emery —