In my previous post, Part I, I wrote about how meeting Angelica, a psychic, inspired me to leave Boston and move overseas to find lasting love. In her predictions, she specified that my future husband was a “tall man with glasses” living in Europe, who would be revealed to me through a “Russian icon.” When she added that I would rediscover my passion for music, I decided to begin my odyssey in Budapest, land of my musical idol, Franz Liszt. Eventually, I met the man Angelica had envisioned, but her role as a spiritual adviser didn’t end there…
Following a whirlwind romance, Otto and I got engaged and planned to get married at Christmastime (less than two months away) back in the U.S. Angelica was delighted to hear this happy news. However, a few weeks later, tragedy struck when my dear father died suddenly of a coronary while I was visiting him and my mother in Massachusetts. We three had been planning the wedding at a nearby Amherst church, followed by a reception at a local inn. However, hours after Dad died, I phoned Otto in Finland to tell him the wedding was off. I was in shock, as were my mother and sisters, and there was no way I could go through with our nuptials. He was disappointed, but understood.
After my father’s funeral, I phoned Angelica with the sad news. Upon hearing the distress in my voice and learning of the canceled wedding plans, she urged me to travel to her home two hours away in Cambridgeport and spend the night. I showed up at her doorstep with a paper bag containing only a toothbrush and a change of underwear. She took one look at my bereaved face and sat me down with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, then showed me to my room, where a fake Christmas tree with blinking color lights greeted me. As I slipped under the covers, I felt more relaxed than I’d been since arriving in the States.
The next day, I quickly learned that Angelica had an agenda. After lunch, she entered into one of her mystical trances and began receiving messages from my “Higher Guides.” Their message, she informed me, was loud and clear: it was very important that I keep my original plans to marry Otto two weeks later.
“But why can’t it wait until the spring?” I asked her. “I’m in mourning, as is my family. It’s hardly the time…”
“On the contrary, that is why now is exactly the time,” she countered. “Your father wants you to get married. He wants you to be happy.”
I burst into tears. I knew her sentiments with regard to my dad were spot on, but I did not have the strength nor energy to pull it off. Even though my parents and I had planned a small, intimate affair, there was still the matter of buying the rings, ordering flowers and food for the handful of guests, trying on wedding dresses and suits, filing paperwork. With daily panic attacks incapacitating me, the to-do list seemed insurmountable. Plus, the original wedding date was less than two weeks away! Thankfully, Otto had kept his plane reservation and was flying into Boston that night.
Angelica listened to my list of woes, yet remained adamant that the time was “now.” ”Or never,” I knew she was tempted to utter.
Before sending me out into the deep freeze to Logan Airport, she gave me a fashionable black satchel (“You can’t pick up your future husband with just a paper bag!) and a gorgeous red velvet hat with fake fur trimming that still comes in handy during the harsh Finnish winters.
I won’t go into specifics, but suffice it to say that Otto and I did keep the original wedding date. It turned out that Otto had the same arguments for going through the ceremony as Angelica did. Two weeks later, we said our vows in front of immediate family beside a giant hearth in the dining room of our original reception venue at The Lord Jeffrey Inn, which luckily, was still available. While we shed tears of sorrow over the absence of my father, there were also tears of joy. And the joy continued as Otto and I celebrated one anniversary after another, much to Angelica’s delight.
Today, tears of sorrow return, as I mourn my friend to whom I owe so much. Without her insights and encouragement, I most certainly would not have moved to Europe to teach and travel, nor would I have met and married Otto. Maybe I’d be living with my ex-boyfriend, Hank, still waiting for him to propose. Perish the thought!