Priscilla Matheny, 84, was engaged to be married, but her groom certainly took his time getting down the aisle…
Across the church hall, a handsome stranger caught my eye. He came over and said, “Hello, I’m Ed.” Then he flashed me a big grin. “There’s something about that smile that makes me feel safe,” I thought. And so, when he asked me out, I said yes.
It was 1959 and I was 19 and Ed was 21. We were each other’s first love and in time Ed popped the question. I accepted straight away. Even when he went to university, a five-hour drive away, we vowed to make our engagement work long distance. We kept in touch by letter and, when he couldn’t come to visit me, I got on the bus and travelled to see him.
“I can’t wait to start our lives together,” Ed wrote to me. Knowing we would marry when he returned was what kept me going.
But one day everything changed. The post had landed on the doormat and I rifled through it for Ed’s handwritten envelope. Spotting it, I rushed to my bedroom, to read his letter. But as I took in his words, my eyes misted with tears.
He’d written: “I don’t think we should get married.” There was a brief apology and a vague explanation, but it couldn’t have been clearer – he was calling off the engagement.
I sat on the edge of my bed and tears poured down my face. Everything I’d imagined – our marriage, a home, children – was gone.
Months passed and I kept thinking: How could he do this? But gradually my tears dried, and that summer I met Wally. He was kind and sweet and I told myself “He’s been sent to me to mend my broken heart.” Five months later, we were married. I went on to have everything I’d hoped for – a loving husband, a lovely home and four beautiful children. Any thoughts I’d had of Ed melted away, and I never once bumped into him. After 23 happy years, Wally passed away. I was heartbroken but, in time, I got used to being alone. I became a grandma and I had my friends, my home, work and church to keep me busy. Then one day, 36 years after Wally passed, I logged on to Facebook and saw I had a friend request. When I clicked on it, I gasped. I thought, “What on earth? Is this for real?” It was from Ed Sneckenberger. I was now 82 and I hadn’t thought of Ed in more than 60 years. “I don’t want to be his friend,” I thought, deleting the request. “Not after the way he treated me!” But Ed was persistent, sending messages, and even calling the church to get in touch. He didn’t give up and, eventually, I found myself arranging to meet him for coffee. “Just so I can tell him to leave me alone!” I told my friend. I didn’t feel nervous. I was just curious to know why he’d dumped me all those years earlier and why he was trying to contact
