Once upon a time I was engaged to a man that is not my husband.
I loved him very much. He knew I wouldn’t marry outside the temple, so he took the missionary discussions. Turns out, he was what you’d call a “golden” contact. The missionaries thought they were being set up at first, but no, he really was all that.
I flew out to North Carolina for his baptism. I remember how special it was. Apparently, it never (or rarely) snows in Greensboro, but never fear… I brought winter with me! Roads were unplowed, because why would they have the resources to plow roads that virtually never needed plowing? Accidents everywhere, people hoarding things from the stores, businesses and schools shut down. You’d have thought the world was ending. The amount of snowfall? Maybe six inches, spread out over two days.
A short while after returning home to Utah, we broke up. It was painful and confusing. I don’t remember why, but that was the confusing part. It had seemed so sudden and without warning.
Fast-forward 14 years and here I am, happily married to Honey. Out of nowhere, I dreamt about Mr. X last night.
I don’t remember why, but Shana the Beautiful was with me, and we were trying to find him. We were at his home, only it didn’t look like the place I had been. It was very cluttered (completely opposite of the actual conditions), things were being packed up. His family was there (mom, nieces, sisters, brothers) and had the unfortunate news that he had been brutally murdered just days before. I was so overcome with grief I couldn’t talk or cry or anything. My heart ached like nothing before. His mom and sister (whom I never met, incidentally) were so kind. They were trying to find a few of his things, and maybe a picture of him that I could take with me – only I didn’t recognize anything. Everywhere I looked, nothing looked the same as I remember. His family was actually very against his baptism. I kept trying to skirt around asking if he had stayed active in the church, but I could tell by my surroundings that he had not. The set of scriptures I had given him weren’t there, and there was material from other churches strewn about the room. When they finally did find some pictures, one of them had him smoking a cigarette. In real life, he hadn’t smoked. But in this dream, he had given it up to be baptized.
Shana and I gathered our things and headed for home and I just cried all the way as she drove.
I’ve been wondering so many things since I woke up. Why did I dream about this person? I haven’t thought of him in some time. Does this dream mean something? Is it my subconscious’ psychic way of letting me know he’s died? And why do I still care so much? I would never trade what I have now for what might have been. I love my husband, more than spoken words can say.