I hate running into people that know my son went on a mission but somehow missed the fact that he returned too soon.  I guess I need to take responsibility for that.  After all, I was so diligent about letting the world know he was going to serve in a remote place no one has ever heard of that I guess I should have been just as diligent in letting the world know that didn’t end the way I expected.  Again, it would be nice if the church would give you a pamphlet telling you what proper protocol is.  I was at the auto repair store the other day and an old ward member asked how my missionary was doing.  It’s always an awkward moment that makes me instantly sick to my stomach.  Every single emotion I felt is suddenly brought to the surface all over again.  I will admit I’ve gotten much better at making a joke about it and trying to quickly change the subject after the obligatory, surface information has been given. Nearly eight months later I can actually get through it without breaking down.  But inside, it tears me apart.  Every single time.  I wonder if it will stop.  Will I always feel that prick through my heart anytime I see a missionary announcement, hear of a farewell or homecoming, or a mother talking excitedly about her missionary?  You are suddenly shut out of a world you anticipated with all your heart for 19 years.  It’s a brutal slamming of the door that will forever leave a scar. The hardest part for me is that no one has explained any of this to me that logically makes sense.  The only person that can do that is my son and he has not/will not been totally honest with us yet. So I am left with my wild imagination that creates my own scenarios.  

The first few weeks my son was home every time the doorbell rang I thought, “This is it.  The sheriff is here to haul away my son for something illegal that he did.  It’s why he was sent home right?”  But the sheriff never showed up – at least not yet anyway.  The first thing I asked my son when he called that night from the airport was, “Are we going to need to hire an attorney?”  He said “no.”  I said, “I guess we can get through anything if we don’t need an attorney.”  But then I started to get angry the sheriff hadn’t come to haul him away.  What kind of mother thinks that?  But in my mind it placed a tangible, logical explanation to something that made no sense to me.  So then I began to wonder when some tramp of  a girl was going to show up on our front door introducing us to our new grandchild that she had been secretly raising for a couple of years.  Worked for John Edwards for awhile right? Again, that offers a logical explanation as to why my son was home.  And again, that never happened – at least not yet anyway.  Maybe my son signed away his parental rights and the child will come back one day to stake claim to his inheritance when we are rich and famous.

And then I begin to fear the very worst, maybe my son is struggling with same gender attraction.  I review his life in my mind in every waking moment that I have.  How will I ever accept the realization that my son may not bring us a future daughter-in-law, but rather another son-in-law?  I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that idea. But again, at least it’s a logical, tangible explanation as to what was so horrible that my son had to come home.  Why does the Bishop, Stake President and Mission President get to know and we, as parents, don’t?  After all, we are the ones in the trenches picking up the pieces and we have no idea what pieces we are trying to glue back together.

When you are an LDS mom living in Utah, more specifically Utah County, there are things you know will happen the minute your newborn baby boy is placed in your arms.  Certain rites of passages are yours alone to enjoy as an LDS mom.  You know there will be a big family gathering in just a few short weeks, whether you feel up for it or not, as your family descends on you to witness your son receive a name and a blessing.  Other rites of passages are yours to enjoy like taking him to church praying he doesn’t throw up all over some sweet little grandma or praying he doesn’t run all over sacrament meeting throwing cheerios at unsuspecting victims. 

LDS mom’s dream of the day their boys are baptized.  It is a sign they are well on their way to becoming a missionary.  By now our son has been singing the song, “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” for a solid three years now.  He knows that when he finally grows a foot or two and hits the age of 19 that he’s outta here.  No questions asked; it’s a done deal.  After they are baptized, we even buy our son a little suit and new scriptures. We gloat over said suit because it’s a mini version of what he’ll look like in just over 10 years when he becomes a missionary.  Some really overzealous moms make little missionary tags to put on the suit that say ‘Future Missionary.” 

The next big day for an LDS mom comes when her son turns 12 and is ordained a deacon and receives the priesthood.  Our little boys are now dorkier forms of the young men they will become with pants that don’t reach the ground and shirt collars that are never straight.  Mom and dad sit in the congregation and beam as their son has been declared worthy to receive the priesthood and begin fulfilling his priesthood duties as the men in his family have done for generations before him.  It is his duty.  No, it’s their legacy and there’s a paper trail to prove it.

Being ordained a priest is another big checkmark on moms list of what it takes to get a missionary out the door.  He is now a priest.  He can bless the sacrament, he can baptize (although in our family his youngest sister didn’t want him to baptize her because she was convinced he drowned her before letting her up for air), but the clincher is – he can do splits with the missionaries.  You can just hear the angelic choirs singing at this point.  The mission is so close.  Just a few more years of keeping them busy with school, work, and activities so that no girl or influence will get in the way of the dream you have held your breath waiting for almost 19 years now.

The blessed day comes when your son can start his papers.  You’ve been talking about it for 19 years and now it’s here.  There should be a moment of silence throughout the world when an LDS mom reaches this moment.  Her whole existence, her whole reason for being a mom, her whole reason for devoting her life to her son is for this moment.  The real fun begins when the Stake President hits the “send to Salt Lake” button.  Everyone begins guessing where our son will serve.

Two weeks later your phone rings at the glorious hour of 7:30 AM to say the envelop has arrived and is ready to be picked up.   An LDS mom feels like she’s going to throw up but in the best way possible.  The anticipation is nothing like I’ve ever experienced.  Finally the call is opened and has the standard, ‘You have been called to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints…”  and he pauses in a way that only a son could pause knowing he’s got full power of the room at that moment.  And when he announces where he has been called to serve, no one has heard of it.  Is it a real place?  But it is and reality starts to sink in.  He’s excited.  Everyone is happy.  It feels right.  The church is true.  I feel peace, oddly.  This is where he is supposed to go. My good little Mormon life is falling right into place just like it’s supposed to.  I’ve been the LDS mom that stayed home to raise my kids, sacrificed a lot to do that, we have said our prayers, had FHE, served faithfully in our callings, attend every meeting, serve our neighbors, read scriptures, make food that has cream chicken soup in it – the whole Mormon package.  We were it.  Did it all.  Believed in it all.  Bought the whole package with the belief that living this way is enough to keep you immune from the trials that happens to others; to “those parents with those kids.”  My Mormon resume is as complete as is my husbands.

Over the next four months we dutifully go to Missionary Mall so we can gloat and gush over our son in his new suit and sparkling white shirts, durable pants, heavy, bulky shoes, colorful ties, and lots of white undies to last two years.  Just a few more days to go and I can throw away my to do list, safely deposit my son to the MTC, and not worry about him again for two years.  What a glorious break it will be.  How glorious it will be to fall asleep for 670 days knowing my son is safe and I get a nice long break from all the worry and stress.  I just get to do the fun stuff like sending packages and letters.  It’s every mom’s dream.

You pull off an amazing farewell.  The missionary gave a brilliant talk that showed maturity, humor, depth, lots of emotion, and everyone sat mesmerized through the whole talk.  Because, after all, it was one of the best farewell talks this Mormon community has ever heard.  They’ll just have to wait two years to get the even better version when he’s back home a changed man.

And then suddenly the clock is moving too fast.  You find yourself looking at your son wondering how you will go on without him in your home for two years and then you find yourself in the bathroom sobbing.  What is wrong with you? This is the event, your rite of passage, you’ve been waiting 19 years for and now you’re crying about it?  There is no logic in a Mormon mom’s world.

And then suddenly, three months later, one phone call changes your whole normal.  Life as you once knew it is forever changed with one phone call.  The stake president wants you in his office at 9 PM on a Friday.  And in that moment, you know.  You know that your son will be home far sooner than he was supposed to.  You know that your son has messed up and now everyone will know.  You know that your son will walk back into church on Sunday with the word “reject” branded on his forehead forever.  You know that once again, your family and your parenting skills will be the subject of many families over Sunday dinner.  You know that they are talking about “those parents with that child.”  In that moment you feel like you will never breathe normally again or ever stop crying or ever stop feeling like your heart has been shattered into a million pieces.  You know that no one will ever be able to explain anything to you about this whole mess that will logically make sense. 

How is your son supposed to live happily ever after without serving an honorable mission?  How am I supposed to earn mother of the year now?  How do we pick up the pieces of so many shattered hopes and dreams?