I still remember every detail of “that day.”   “That day” started like every day in December where my husband and I take a day off and get all our Christmas shopping done.  It is a day we have both always enjoyed as have our kids.  They love knowing that while they are at school mom and dad are buying gifts; sometimes sending them text messages to clarify items on their lists.  The kids love being banned into our bedroom as we bring our packages into the house, down into my husband’s office, then place a blanket over all the packages until I can get them wrapped.  It is always a happy day for all.

“That day” started just as normally.  The older girls had left for school.  My husband was in the shower getting ready, while my youngest daughter and I were pouring cereal into our bowls for breakfast.  The phone rang at 8:30 AM.  The caller ID showed our stake presidents name which wasn't too alarming at first because he is our next door neighbor.  I answered the phone while pouring milk in my cereal.  Our stake president isn't a man of small talk so he got right to the point.  He asked if he could see my husband and I in his office that night at 9.  My heart stopped and then sunk.  I began to shake. To this day I still shake as I think about that moment.  I asked him, “Is everything okay with my son?  Do I need to be worried?”  He paused, a very long pause, and said, “We always need to pray for our missionaries.”  And in that moment I knew that if my son was dead or gravely injured he would not be waiting until 9 PM to tell me that kind of news.  News travels to quickly to wait these days.  In that moment I knew that my son would be coming home just 9 weeks into his mission – 10 days after arriving in his assigned country.

I’m not sure what all I said at that point but I remember I had to hold it together because my 11 year old was talking excitedly at me about her Christmas list.  I told her to eat her breakfast because I needed to talk to dad.  As I walked to the bathroom, I was crying.  I never cry – at least I didn’t used to cry.  As I repeated the conversation with the stake president to my husband, the reality quickly settled in. 

We took our youngest to school without saying anything to her.  I don’t think she picked up that anything was amiss.  We sat in our kitchen for an hour not saying much and unsure what to do.  12 ½ hours is a very, very long time to wait to hear the news you already know in your heart.  We also knew sitting in the kitchen for 12 ½ wasn’t going to help anything. We figured we would try and make the most of what was supposed to be a very fun day.  We also resolved not to say anything to our four daughters until we had facts.  They all had fun days planned – school activities, big rivalry basketball game and dance.  No sense in ruining everyone’s day.  Again, it would be nice if there was some type of protocol to follow in these situations.

We left to go shopping but neither one of us could concentrate.  At our first stop we ran into friends that asked how our son was doing.  We told them we weren’t really sure how he was doing, which wasn’t a lie.  We somehow managed to awkwardly joke off that moment and I managed not to cry.  The rest of the day we spent trying to focus on buying presents but not caring about anything.  Our girls sent us text messages asking if we were finding everything okay because we usually had more questions for them than we did on this day.  I would break down in the mall and try to find a corner where no one could see me.  It was pointless to think we were going to accomplish anything and yet time stood still. 

We came home with very little packages which slightly alarmed the girls but there wasn't much time to worry about anything.  They were busy getting ready for the big game and stomp.  They reminded us that we had promised to go – we never miss the rivalry game.  And so we went.  I don't know why it was so important to appear normal when nothing felt normal.  I remember sitting at that basketball game making small talk with friends and neighbors wishing the game would end but knowing as soon as it was over, it was time to go see the stake president.  I was caught between two worlds; one where my son was still a missionary and all was well and the other knowing that he wouldn't be a missionary much longer and all wasn't going to ever be well.  I don’t even remember anymore who won the game.

We brought our youngest daughters home and told them to get ready for bed and watch a movie while we went to visit with someone.  I still couldn't bring myself to shatter their world.  My husband and I were still wearing our school shirts and jeans from the game and we both wondered if we were supposed to dress up for such a meeting.  I decided if I was about to be told my son was coming home then I would be dressed comfortably and we went in jeans.

I cried the whole way over to the church.  We decided to walk the two blocks to the church because we didn't want anyone to see our car in the parking lot on a Friday night at 9 PM.  That would only set off rumors and I hadn't even thought about how to handle this with others.  I was too focused on how things were about to change, how I would tell my girls and family, and how I could keep from throwing up.

I think the thing I remember the most about that night is the Stake President asking me why I was crying before we even got into his office.  I remember finding that so odd because he knew I had had 12 ½ hours to think about nothing else.  I know that we prayed, read a couple of scriptures, and then he told us the news that I already knew.  The events after that moment become fuzzier in my mind the more time goes by.  For that, I am thankful.  I am sure most of us have tried to block that from our mind.

Telling our girls was hard.  Our two youngest were home and could tell something was wrong when we walked in the door.  They too have never seen mom cry and I was crying.  I don’t remember what we said to them exactly, just that their brother would be home Wednesday night.  They started to cry, and cry, and cry some more.  They kept saying, “It’s not supposed to end this way.”  Our oldest two daughters were at the stomp and for whatever reason, we decided to wait to tell them until they got home at 11.  Maybe it was easier to deal with the emotions of girls in small doses.  Our 15 year old came home as soon as the stomp was over and she too knew something was instantly wrong when she came in the house.  Her reaction was much different.  She was mad.  She went through the house and took down or turned over every picture of her brother, went to room and refused to talk to anyone until the next morning. I know she cried herself to sleep.  I heard her through the door.

 Our 17 year old was hanging out with friends after the stomp so we began sending her text messages saying she needed to come home.  She didn't understand why since her curfew was midnight and it was only 11:15.  We finally called her and told her to come home.  She said, “You are starting to freak me out.  What is going on?”  We told her to come home which she did.  I think she took the news the hardest.  She sobbed and was only consoled when her dear friend came over at 11:45 while she cried and asked, “Why would he do this?”  At some point that night we also called our parents to tell them their grandson would be home far sooner than expected.  You could hear the heaviness and disappointment in their voices and I felt I had failed another generation of people I respected greatly.

Every year I look forward to Christmas.  I am one of those that  will put up my Christmas decorations the week of Thanksgiving, much to my husband’s dismay (he has learned that he can’t stop me because I do it all while he’s at work).  Every year I look forward to opening the storage totes and finding things I bought on clearance last year that I have forgotten about over the year.  I knew this year was going to be different. 

On Friday, we will mark the one year day of “the phone call” that changed life for us, and probably more for me.  I was in such a daze a year ago that I don’t even remember boxing up my decorations which was problematic this year when I couldn’t remember what totes everything had been put into.  I didn’t go clearance shopping which was disappointing when I opened my totes and found nothing new to display this year.  In spite of me trying to stay positive and not focus on where I was a year ago, I found post it notes that had the Bishop and Stake Presidents work and cell phone numbers so that we could get a hold of them as travel arrangements and interview appointments were made for our son who came home two weeks before Christmas. 

But I pushed through all that and Christmas did get put up although it wasn't before Thanksgiving.  I think that is a first for me.  As I was decorating my trees (yes, I said trees.  I have four) I kept thinking to myself, “Well, at least I know the Bishop, Stake President, and Relief Society, won’t be over here trying to console a family.”  But all those thoughts factored into my decorating and I made sure I did an extra good job this year.  Maybe I’m trying to vindicate myself from last year – who knows why we woman think the things we think :D  Regardless, my decorating looks good because I think I’ll always carry that memory every single Christmas.  But I also take comfort in the fact that never again can I be delivered a blow like that again.

But this isn't my point.  My point is this:  It has almost been a year now and what have I learned?  As I was studying the conference Ensign on Sunday, I came across this quote from Elder Quinten L. Cook’s talk called, Can Ye Feel So Now.  It is a quote from Oliver Wendall Holmes that says, “I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving:  To reach the port of heaven, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it,-but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.” 

This reminds me of the picture of the Tree of Life, the darkness, the spacious building, those that made it to the tree that are encouraging those still trudging through the darkness, and those that have let go.  It wasn't enough to just hold on to the iron rod, you had to make forward progress in order to reach the tree.  You had to put one foot in front of the other, one hand over the other hand to hold onto the rod. 

Perhaps I have spent this year doing more drifting. Maybe lots of learning that I don’t quite recognize yet, but I didn't let go.  I still have faith; my testimony was shaken I hate to admit, but my faith still largely intact. I still go to church every week, even when I know there is a farewell or homecoming talk, because I know that I can’t let go.  I have continued to serve in a demanding church calling because Heavenly Father knew I would need that calling to appreciate the trials I have and come to love others in a way I never would have sought.    I still struggle to make sense of a missionary that came home early, of a child I raised that wasn't honest with me, of still standing tall when I want to be swallowed up sometimes at church, but I am determined to reach the port of heaven and not let this be an anchor around my leg.  And I can learn and feel all these things with more meticulously decorated trees this year…just in case :D