One of the blessings in sending a missionary out is you know exactly what you have to do to get the papers to Salt Lake.  There are check lists, guidance from the Bishop and Stake President, and advice (solicited or not) from all the other missionary mom's on your block or in your ward.  Once the mission call arrives every mom promptly takes that booklet of information that came with the call away from the missionary so that she can laminate, frame, shrink it down to purse size, and promptly memorize it over the next few months.  There isn't a missionary mom in the world that does not know every single requirement that has to be met and can probably tell anyone what page number said requirements are found.  That little booklet becomes scripture because it contains everything you need to know. And just in case that information isn't enough every mom has already signed up on "Betty's Missionary Moms Mission" websites where all the current missionary mom's can welcome the newbies and give even more advice and suggestions.  

But there isn't any guidance for an ERM who now wants to go back out.  Just like there isn't a pamphlet outside the Bishop's office when they first come home, there certainly isn't a pamphlet outlining the process for them to return.  And maybe that's because these boys have been deemed lost causes that there is no hope for so why waste paper and ink? Which is certainly confusing because when an ERM first comes back that's all anyone can talk about. What do we have to do and how fast can we do it to get this Elder back out in the field? But then the brutal reality sets in and days and weeks turn into months and years and the Elder is forgotten - left to fend for himself while a family fumbles their way through the dark.

But in those dark months and years the Lord works on these young men - at least I saw that with our son. The Lord allowed our son to experience the good, the bad, the ugly, the spiritual- so that he could be molded into the person the Lord needed him to be.  As I watched my son go through some of those experiences I saw how he was growing into a man and I decided his "mission" was just different from what I had always thought it would be.  I saw firsthand that the Lord does know us individually and is aware of our circumstances - my testimony of this grew 100% during the time our son was home.  I realized that it wasn't my time table that mattered - the Lord had his own plan for my son and I had to have faith in His timing and simply strive every single day to love my son the way Heavenly Father did.  Some days that was much easier than other days. 

 One late fall day, shortly before he announced his decision to return, I happened to re-read my son's patriarchal blessing and a sentence literally jumped off the page.  It basically said the Lord was confident that he would be worthy to serve a full time mission as a young man and as he entered the mission field worthily the Lord would provide those special spiritual experiences that would bless his life.  I was deeply humbled by the words an inspired patriarch spoke years ago and for the first time I wondered if all this that had happened was part of the plan for our son and our family.  I know that we as a family, and me personally, learned and grew in ways we never would have had he not returned home early.  Enough time had passed now, enough healing had happened, that I could honestly say we were better for the experience.  It didn't mean there weren't scars and battle wounds that we would always carry but we had triumphed through something incredibly hard because the Lord carried us and blessed us.  He did not leave us alone.  After reading that line in his blessing I knew this next journey was part of a new plan that would require more learning and growing.

But how did we go about the next part?  How in the world does this whole process of returning work?  When our son announced he wanted to return to the mission field one of my first thoughts was to the "files" that had been thrown away almost a year ago (see blog post "The File:  To Save or Not to Save?"  June 2013). When he moved out he/we had thrown away everything associated with his mission - including that white Bible that comes with the call. But then I realized it didn't matter we had thrown that away because he would go to different mission - somewhere in the states.  And what about his clothes? He had left EVERYTHING in the country he was serving in when he came home.  Those people were so, so poor that he felt he could not justify taking home a suitcase of new clothes he knew he'd never wear again when those people came to church in jeans - the Sunday best jeans were the ones with the least amount of holes in them.  Are we really supposed to buy everything all over again? Do we have to re-submit all the paperwork again?  Did he have to get new shots? Would his call come in the mail again and we'd have a 3-4 month wait before he could leave?  Did he have to speak in Sacrament meeting again? Do we have to pay for the plane ticket this time since the church already paid for the required two? Does he have to go through the MTC again?  Will he speak a foreign language? How long does it take to get this ball rolling? My mind began to race with all the questions and possibilities and I didn't have a clue as to where to turn for answers.  Not even Betty's Missionary Mom website had a group for returning ERM.  Our son was meeting with his Bishop and Stake President in his student ward which left us further in the dark since our Bishop and Stake President had no clue what was going on so we couldn't ask them either.  We were at the mercy of our son to relay information and updates to us which he has never, ever been good at.  I decided there wasn't much I could do but just let him take care of it and try to relax - it was out of my hands.

But the Lord gave me two tender mercies to hang on to.  The first came from my friend up the street whose son was working on going back as well.  I couldn't call her and ask her details (because no one knew yet) but I could casually ask how things were going when I saw her.  Turns out I didn't even have to do that because everyone else in the ward wanted to know how it was going so I just had to make sure I was listening.  I did learn that there are several interviews that take place with the Bishop and Stake President once the Elder decides to return before anything else happens.  They want to make sure the Elder is worthy, ready, and willing to move forward no questions - that the past is truly in the past.  That family was at the end of that stage which our son had just started. 

The other tender mercy came when I went in to get my temple recommend renewed. I was very nervous about going into the Stake offices because I hadn't been back there since that horrible night our son was released.  I could still see that night in my head and it brought up all those feelings.  I told my husband I was not going in the Stake President's office, I would meet with a counselor, and told my husband to make sure that happened. And he did - my husband actually went before me which I'm sure confused the Stake President since wives usually go first but I just couldn't go in there.  And I'm glad it happened that way.  The counselor I interviewed with is a very sweet and gentle man that reminds me of a grandpa.  As we moved through the questions he came to the one about the Atonement and the Spirit filled that room so intensely.  I was so overcome with emotion because for the first time in my life I could truly say and feel that I KNEW the Atonement was real, that it was for me, for my son, and it had healed my broken heart.  I knew that a loving Heavenly Father didn't leave me without hope and comfort and sent His son to make sure I could be healed but more importantly to me was knowing my son had been made whole through the Savior. I had always believed it but now I KNEW.  

After the interview the counselor asked my how my son was doing.  I told him he was good and gave a report on what he had been doing the past 18 months.  And then I did something I didn't even expect.  It was like an out of body moment where I was watching myself do it but couldn't stop myself.  I asked him what the process would be if an elder wanted to return to the mission field!!  I couldn't believe I had just said that.  He asked if it was our son that was thinking about it and I did something worse and said "Yes!"  I had zero intention of saying anything - I had no idea where this had come from.  I blamed it on whatever they put in those stake office rooms that make you answer truthfully. Like when they ask if there is any reason they can't call your husband to a leadership position and you've rehearsed all the wrong answers (like he sympathizes with those poor polygamists) that will keep your life from becoming complicated but you say the right answers instead.  But this sweet counselor got emotional and it took him a minute to regain his composure and answer my question.  It was in that moment that I realized something greater was happening in that room although I wasn't sure yet. The Spirit was very strong in that room. He finally told me the process to return wasn't as difficult as going out the first time.  Our son would not have to re-submit all the paperwork because it was all still on file (that surprised me since I figured the church would have just deleted his file when he came home), that he would have a series of interviews, write a letter to the First Presidency explaining why he wanted to return, and then wait for the First Presidency to let the Stake President know their decision.  He said, "IF he is allowed to return it's not usually to the same mission and it will be fast - a matter of days so be prepared for that."  I thanked him for his information while my head began swimming in a whole new direction. "IF" he was allowed to return?  "Matter of days....be prepared..."  Was he kidding??  We spent 4 months getting him ready to leave, how would we do that in a matter of days???  Especially since we had no idea where he would be returning to!

I realized that  this time there wouldn't be protocol to follow, a little white missionary "Bible's" to read and memorize, no help from Betty's army of Missionary Mom's.  This process would be much like the process of when he returned:  We would stumble our way through the uncharted, the dark, the ambiguous, and the Lord would do what He's done the whole way through this journey.  He would guide us, turn on the lights, and it would all be okay in the end.  And maybe, by the time this journey was over, we would write the pamphlet to put outside the Bishop's office

I was checking Facebook a couple of weeks ago and saw this link to this article that was posted by a sister who had recently returned home from her mission early due to health reasons.  I found it insightful and wished I could have handed it out to people when our son returned.  I hope it will help people know how to treat these ERM in a loving and accepting way.

http://ldsliving.com/story/63954-when-a-missionary-returns-early

I'm not sure if tender mercy is the right word to use here but just 5 weeks after our son returned home another Elder that lived two houses up the street from our house returned home early from his mission.  He had been out a year.  Another family, another mother, was experiencing all the same things I was feeling and we quickly became a life line for each other.  Our son's had grown up together.  They attended Young Men's, got their Eagles and Duty to God awards, both were raised in homes where the gospel was central.  And yet both families were now experiencing heartache and disappointment. We watched as both our boys struggled greatly with testimonies and a desire to remain active in the church.  They both fell away for a time.  I started to wonder if early release missionaries going inactive was another rite of passage of this journey.  Maybe that should be included in the pamphlet that should be outside the Bishop's office.

My friend and I spent the first summer of our son's returns walking (see blog post Sept. 2012 "No escaping the title of ERM...) and talking about the journey we were on.  We found strength and comfort in each other and by the end of the summer we felt we had grown and healed a little bit.  We were both ready for the next phase of life to begin.  By fall, both our son's had returned to activity in the church and both had the light of Christ in their eyes.  My son had moved away but her son lived at home and still attended our ward.

One cold day in January, not long after my son had dropped his announcement of his desire to return to the mission field, my friend's son had been asked to come to Relief Society and talk about the Priesthood, his duties, and what it meant to him.  He is an amazing young man from an equally amazing family and he did a great job.  All the sisters were enjoying listening to him and admiring him for his bravery and honesty.  He had been asked to speak about the duties of an Elder and one of those duties was serving a mission.  He talked about his mission, what it had meant to him, the people he served, and how much he loved his time as a missionary.  He then dropped a bombshell of his own when he announced that he had loved his mission so much that he was going to start the process to return to the mission field and complete the assignment he had been given over two years ago.

Everyone in that room gasped, broke into smiles, and some into tears.  Except for me.  I sat there dumbfounded that these two boys, who had no way of knowing what each other was thinking and planning, were now on another journey together.  Our families were going to experience this together whether we wanted to or not.  But no one knew yet of our son's plan.  We hadn't told a soul at this point and had no plans to for quite some time.  We wanted certainty and answers before upending everyone's world once again.  

After Relief Society and after all the swarm of sisters had left my friend I just hugged her and asked how she felt about all this.  She was as equally surprised as everyone else had been in that room.  She had known he had been having thoughts and feelings about returning but didn't know until then that he was truly serious about it.  I told her how happy I was for them and if she needed to vent we could bundle up and start walking again.  I did not tell her about my sons plan.  In a way I was very thankful that her son had made the public announcement.  It would be easier to watch them be slightly ahead of us in this process so I would know what to expect.  All the attention would be on their family and we could quietly go about our process without the eyes of others watching us.  I wasn't as confident and happy about my son's decision to return as this Elder's mom was.  I guess my faith was lacking - my fear was taking over again. 

After church I told my husband what had happened and he too found it unbelievable in the best way possible.  He too was thankful we would have a family to watch and he too agreed that telling people right now wasn't right nor was it our place.  That was our son's decision. My husband and I laid in bed that night processing the changes and journey's both our families were about to embark on again.  Just like when they had both returned home within weeks of each other we wondered if they would both return to the mission field within weeks of each other.  It was too crazy of an idea to believe for me.  That just didn't happen.  Would my friend and I have a lot to talk about when we started walking again in the spring? And then I wondered what in the world had been in the water during Christmas break and whatever it was, it had been contagious!

A month after our son returned home I found myself in the temple one cold January morning.  I hadn't been to the temple since he had returned.  I had spent that month being angry at him and anyone else I could think of.  I had been throwing myself a pretty good pity party and wallowing in my misery like the best of them.  But that January morning I knew I had to go to the temple so I just went without realizing what day and time it was.

I left my home for the 30 minute drive over and made it into the 10 AM session.  Which is full of missionaries from the MTC!!  The whole endowment room is full of happy, smiling missionaries with a few "older" people mixed in there.  I literally sat in the chapel and wondered if I could just leave, change my clothes, go home, and go back to my pity party where I felt safer.  Instead I was surrounded by a room full of people that went straight to the heart of my pain and anguish. I was trying to get over these happy, smiling Elders because my son wasn't one anymore.  And then I realized it was also Wednesday and by the time I would be leaving the temple I would be just in time to see all the happy families dropping their son's off at the MTC!!  I really wanted to just cry and keep feeling sorry for myself but I decided to toughen up, try and feel the Spirit, try to focus on the person who I was doing work for, and just try to get through the next two hours without totally falling apart. My pity party would be even better tonight after this experience.

And you know what?  It worked.  I focused on listening to the organ and the words of the songs.  I focused more on the words of the endowment session than I probably ever had and learned so much.  Maybe because I was broken at that time that I found more comfort, more strength, and more hope in that session than I ever had before.  I focused on a woman who lived hundreds of years before me in a foreign country who may have experienced trials far more difficult than mine and she had to endure those without the hope and comfort of the gospel.  And towards the end of the session I was able to look at all those smiling and confused Elders and feel happy for them because they were serving and happy for the families that were experiencing the joys of having a missionary out.  By the time I got to the celestial room, I truly felt lighter, happier, and more thankful.  My prayers had been answered - and probably more important, the prayers of those people praying for me had been answered that morning.

Before I leave the celestial room I always sit in a certain spot, in a certain chair in a little alcove where I can just look at the beautiful picture of the Savior that hangs on the wall.  I always have lots of different thoughts each month as I look at that picture and know that He knows me and is aware of my life.  As I sat there this month among all the missionaries I felt a total sense of peace come over me.  My son was still home- he wasn't immediately zapped half way across the world in an instant and back on his mission- but I felt strength, hope, and peace.  I knew that someday, somehow, everything was going to be okay -even if that meant my son never returned as a missionary.  A lot of me felt like I just wanted to sit in that chair in the celestial room until everything was okay again because I knew as soon as I walked back out of the temple I would wrestle with all the feelings I had been having the past month.  There is a true sense of safety and peace that only comes from within those sacred walls.

My time was getting short - I had kids that would need to be picked up and shuttled around shortly since it was early out day - and I wanted to avoid the whole MTC drop off scene as much as possible.  I decided to say a quick prayer before leaving the celestial room. I don't always say a prayer but today I felt I needed to and wanted to.  I sat in that chair, bowed my head, and began my prayer.

As I was praying I suddenly felt like I wasn't in that room anymore.  I knew I was sitting in a chair but I wasn't conscious of that chair anymore or to any of the whispering's of the missionaries that had been going on around me. Somehow my mind, my spirit, was in another realm all alone.  And then I saw several different "flashes" of my son and our family.  It's hard to describe in words something that isn't in this world in a way that people can relate too.  The best analogy I can come up with is a scene from the movie "Armaggedon" with Bruce Willis that came out a good 10-12 years ago, maybe longer.  There is a scene right at the end of the movie where Bruce Willis is supposed to pull the trigger of a nuclear bomb that will save the world from immediate destruction.  But Bruce Willis knows he will die as soon as he pulls the trigger.  Right as he closes his eyes and pulls the triggers these quick "flashes" of his life and the people he loves flash across the screen for just a fraction of a second.  I'm sure most people have seen movies with similar scenes and it's the closest thing I've been able to compare my experience in the temple to so that people can relate. 

The first thing I saw was my son.  He wasn't in any place in particular, it was like I was looking at a picture because he wasn't moving or doing anything.  He had the light of Christ back in his eyes, which he did not have at this time.  He had a radiant countenance again and he was happy.  Almost simultaneously I saw another "flash" of him in a white shirt and tie with his missionary badge.  He was either sitting up on something or just taller than everyone around him because he stood out.  There was a blue sky above him and a blue ocean behind him.  And he was surrounded by a family - an African American family - and he was teaching them, and there were many people around him. It reminded me of family gatherings at my husband and I's parents home - lots of different people and different ages.  My son was interacting with these people, they were talking and laughing.  He was teaching them from the Book of Mormon and every single person radiated the light of Christ.  I felt like it could have been a picture on the cover of the Ensign magazine - it was that real.  I felt that my son had known these people before in the pre-earth life.  I felt that these were people that he had loved and it looked like their spirits were so happy to be re-uniting on this earth.  For as long as I live, I will never forget that image in my mind.  It was, and to this day still is, beautiful.  

After that I saw a glimpse of my son and the woman he will marry and his kids.  It was a very brief "flash" but he was married and a father and he was happy.  I then saw real quick "flashes" of each of my kids and our family.  We were all happy and all together.  The scene that came to my mind with this "flash" was the vision of the Tree of Life.  We were all happy, no one was mourning that some had gone to the spacious building.  I took this "flash" to be at at time after the Second coming but that is only my opinion.  Again, they were just brief "flashes".  At least it felt really brief.  And then, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.  I was suddenly aware again that I was in the temple, in a real chair, and in a real body.  I was suddenly reminded that I had just been saying a prayer for peace.  I'm not even sure if I said "Amen."  

I opened my eyes and looked around the room and wondered who else in that room had just seen and experienced what I had.  Certainly it had to be a movie that was playing on one of the walls - there was no way I could have seen all that without everyone else witnessing the same thing.  But the room was pretty much empty at that point. I don't know how long I had been sitting there since there aren't any clocks in that room but the room had been full when my prayer started and now there were only 4 of us in there. I sat there for a few more minutes, wondering what had just happened and taking it all in at the same time, and then went downstairs to change. 

I felt like I was in a daze for the rest of the day as I ran my girls here and there and went about my daily routine.  But as everything I had experienced really started to sink in, I knew the Lord had blessed me with the peace I so desperately needed that day.  He reassured me in the most real way possible that everything was going to be okay.  I did not expect to be given the glimpses I received that day and to be honest, the glimpse of my son back on a mission was incredibly unsettling to me. My son had no desire to return and I had even less of a desire to open that door again.  But deep down inside my soul, a place so deep I had forgotten where it was, I knew that someday, somehow, he would return.  And he would return to the people he loved so much.  I didn't know how and I didn't know when but I knew he was foreordained to go back and teach people that would be waiting for him.  And it didn't feel right to share this experience with him - at least not now. Maybe someday the time would be right. 

But in the days, weeks, months, and year that followed that experience that cold January day in the temple I wondered if what I had seen had been real.  My son made no attempt to return to his mission, he had no desire to return (even going inactive for a time), he had moved on with his life, and so had the rest of us.  Maybe all of that was just a cruel joke.  Those beautiful "flashes" didn't match the reality of what I had seen in his actions and it was time to file this away deep inside my mind. I was very adamant that no more missionaries would ever leave from our home again - at least not while I was still living. While I treasured the experience I had in the temple I knew it was something that would either happen much later in his life or maybe in the next life.  After all, we do lots of missionary work on the other side too. It took me awhile, but I truly found my peace with moving on.

And then after all that time my son made his announcement that he wanted to return. I was back in the temple on another cold wintry day trying to find peace and direction over his decision when I remembered this experience I had had over a year ago.  I had buried all of that  so deep that it took me awhile to bring it to the surface again.  I realized that the Lord had blessed me with that experience so that I would hang in there through the bitter end.  And I felt that the bitter end journey was probably just beginning - we were about to embark upon a whole new set of uncertainty and a whole new set of emotions. Maybe it was time for me to realize that everything was going to work out according to the Lord's timeline and I needed to turn this over to Him and let Him take it from there. It was time to not let my fears overtake my faith.  The phrase, "Faith and fear cannot co-exist" were about to take on a whole new meaning. 

The day after Christmas I went to my friends house next door, where that phone call on Christmas Eve with her son had taken place, and simply said, "What in the world happened during that phone call?"  She (I'll call her Pam) and I have been close friends for 17 years and Pam has always been my son's other mother so I knew that she would have picked up on anything unusual that day. I didn't tell Pam right away what had happened in our home the night before - I wanted to see if our son had said anything while he had been at their house.  Pam began by saying she felt bad about all the chaos that was going on in their home during the phone call.  All 5 of their married kids were there along with 16 grand children under the of 14, all wanting to talk to their brother and uncle, so nothing was very calm.  She said that when our son went into the bedroom to talk to his friend, "Drew," that she looked at our son and saw something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before but she was more focused on trying to get grand kids out of the room and the chaos settled down so those two boys could have a good visit.  She said they talked about 15 minutes and then our son came out into the living room where everyone was.  Pam asked our son a few questions about the conversation and that's when she really noticed something was different about our son.  She said the look in his eyes wasn't something she had seen before - it was almost like a longing look or missing out on something but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.  Pam wasn't concerned about our son that day because he was happy he had been able to talk to Drew, they had had a great conversation, and he was looking forward to talking to him again on Mother's Day in a few months.

Pam then looked at me and said, "Why are you asking?"  I proceeded to tell her the change I noticed when he came back from her house, the different countenance/demeanor he had over the past 24 hours, and finally his breakdown Christmas night which led to his bombshell announcement of, "I have to go back."  (see "Another Phone Call" blog entry on April 18, 2014)  As Pam listened to the series of events that had transpired the past two days her face lit up.  She was so excited and got emotional.  There have been a handful of people close to me that have always felt that our son would return to the mission field someday.  Those close to me, including may parents, have known my strong objection to that idea and knew they couldn't talk to me about that very often - if at all.  But as I listened to Pam tell me that she and her husband have always believed that he would return I could see that to her, this wasn't a huge surprise and this was something wonderful.  She looked like it was Christmas Day - she couldn't contain her excitement.  As we talked I assured her that he was just saying thoughts and feelings that he had kept inside but didn't have a concrete plan in place.  Besides, he was starting school in just a few days and once he got back into school these thoughts would take a back seat and everything would blow over.  Pam is a very wise and spiritual friend and she simply reminded me that the Lord always has different plans than we do and His plans always turn out better. I assured her that it was my turn to have things work out the way I wanted them to.

As the holidays wound down and everyone returned to their normal routines I felt relief knowing that school had begun and my two oldest were now attending the same college.  There would be no time now for mission talk. My daughter, who is 17 months younger than our son, sent me a picture on her first day back to school in her new outfit as she did each semester.  She then called us the next two nights to report on her classes, how she was going to like them, if there were any cute boys in her classes - the typical college report from a freshman teenager.  My husband and I knew our son wasn't going to do any of that - it wasn't his style - but we did expect him to tell us about his classes within the week of school starting.  A week went by and we didn't hear from him.  We asked our daughter if she had seen him on campus but she reminded us it's a very big campus and she hadn't seen him. When a week had gone by my husband and I decided to call him to see how he was liking school and managing working as well.  He told us he had decided at the last minute not to attend school at this point - that it didn't feel right.  He said he was going to keep working full time and see what happened next.  I wanted to grab the phone and say, "What happens next is you go to school and get on with your life like we were counting on," but I knew I couldn't do that.  He wasn't a little boy living in my home anymore.  He was an adult living his own life and making his own choices and I had to respect that. He didn't bring up the mission thing so I decided he probably didn't have enough money to go to school so he'd work another semester and start classes in the spring.  That option made me sleep better at night.

Another downside to being a mom of an ERM is finding your way among your friends, family, and ward family.  As we were preparing our son to leave I would get lots of text messages, Facebook posts, and had conversations at the grocery store with other missionary moms who were all sharing in my excitement and always had lots of little tips to offer.  I felt I had a huge support group that would carry me through these two years.  On my block alone, of the four houses, there would be three of us sending our kids on missions within a month of each other.  We quickly decided that we would share this adventure together and even try to have monthly lunch dates where we could just talk about our missionaries.  It was so easy to find other mom's and families that had missionaries serving and felt an instant bond and connection to them.  On the day we dropped our son off at the MTC, many of those friends brought Coke, chocolate, and tissues, sent uplifting text messages, and made sure I was doing okay over those first difficult weeks.  I knew I was going to be emotionally and mentally okay with my army of missionary mom's behind me over the next two years.

But then that phone call does something strange to that army and it was literally disbanded in a matter of moments.  Suddenly many, many of those friends didn't know what to say anymore.  Suddenly the weekly text messages and Facebook correspondence stopped.  Suddenly I felt that people avoided me at the store because they either didn't know what to say or didn't want to associate with "that mom with that kid."  (I know now that was irrational to feel, but it's what I felt for a long awhile.)  Suddenly going to lunch with my two neighbors sounded like the worst idea ever thought of.  Suddenly I felt so alone and so isolated at church because I didn't belong in the same circle as all those other, more worthy missionary moms.  Suddenly I was brutally shut out of a world that I had waited 19 years to be apart of.  And with that brutal slamming of the door I quickly learned that there would be those that would help me bear this burden, mourn with me, and stand willing to comfort at any time.

My first real encounter with other people came at church that first Sunday.  There were those ward members that came up and gave me and our son a huge hug and just said, "Welcome back."  There were those that gave me that complimentary pity smile - not because they are trying to be rude but because they don't know what else to do.  I know now that I have made that same horrible mistake and will never do that again.  And there were those that I literally felt like they were happy our family was experiencing this trial-that we had this coming.  But there were those that had walked this road before us that instantly knew what to do. I found tremendous strength, comfort, and safety in those people.  They were the ones that knew how to mourn, bear, and comfort from personal experience and became my lifeline in the beginning.  What I appreciated the very most was the people that came up to me and said, 'I have no idea what you are experiencing and feeling but know that you are loved and someday it's going to be okay."  I loved that people could be honest with me because truly, only a handful of people did know what we were going through, but they still wanted me to feel safe around them.  And their honesty gave me the permission I needed to feel safe.

I struggled for months with the "friends" that I suddenly didn't hear from anymore.  I felt very betrayed in the beginning by their abandonment.  Why was I suddenly no longer worthy or important enough for those weekly text messages or Facebook posts?  Had my sons coming home offended them?  Had my lack of parenting skills been a wake-up call to them that I wasn't good enough to be their friend anymore?  My self-confidence, which was already dangerously low at this point, was pushed over the edge and I wondered if I would ever feel accepted and loved by anyone ever again.  But I also had to acknowledge that  friendships based solely on being a missionary mom couldn't survive for long if I no longer fit that title.  The drifting apart was natural, not personal.  It took me awhile to understand that.  To this day, even two years later, I still run into some of those "friends' and the conversations are forced and unnatural to me.

Probably the biggest hurt I experienced came from family, oddly enough, but it taught me the greatest lesson. Shortly after Christmas my husbands family was having their traditional game night at my in-laws house.  We had been attending this tradition for years and years and I always looked forward to it. This year was different. I hadn't heard from anyone on his side of the family except for one brother, "Joe", who was more like one of my kids. Joe had been divorced  nearly 12 years ago and had lived with us for a year after his divorce where we supported him financially, emotionally, and mentally.  Up to this point, that year had been the hardest we had ever experienced but also very rewarding. He had three sons that became like three sons to me and brothers to my five children.  Our families shared a very, very close bond over the years so Joe was devastated by our son's early return as well.  Or so we thought.

Not knowing how anyone else on his side of the family was going to react to us made me very apprehensive about attending this family party.  I wasn't strong enough to be around people that I didn't feel safe with yet and I just didn't know if I was going to feel safe.  I told my husband I didn't want to go - that it wouldn't be a good idea. My husband assured me that this was family, that I was loved no matter what, that his brother Joe would be there (who had recently remarried. That story is another blog for another day), and that everything would be "fine."  So I went and felt like this night would be a good booster for me.  Heaven knows playing some games, eating food, and having some laughs would do me a world of good.  But that's not what happened.

We waited to go over to the party until two of our daughter were off work so we could go as a family so we were a bit late.  We walked in and there were a few games going on, some family around the food table, and the rest sitting on the couches just visiting.  The minute we walked into the room an odd feeling was immediately present.  Was it tension?  Apprehension?  Uncertainty?  Annoyance?  Judging? Another group of people that felt our family had this coming? I couldn't tell but it didn't feel like my in-laws house normally felt like.  My husband picked up on it too but again, he assured me that everything was "just fine."  But a strange thing happened.  As I got my food,as I sat on the couch around all the other adults- my brothers and sisters-in-law -no one spoke to me.  Not one of them.  For the whole night.  I suddenly felt so alone and so out of place among people that were family and supposed to make you feel safe. I made a few feeble attempts at conversations but replies were merely one word answers.  I distinctly felt that I was not among people that wanted us there; that we were being ignored for a reason.  After two and half hours of being in that family room, on that couch surrounded by every single in-law not one person had talked to me or made the effort to reach out.  I finally passed the time by re-reading every text message on my phone. Was I feeling sorry for myself at that point?  Absolutely.  But I was in mourning and just needed some comfort from anyone at that point.  A couple of days later I was talking to Joe on the phone and asked why he hadn't said anything to me at the party.  His response is one I'll never forget and hurt me almost as bad as having my son home.  He said, "You know, you're making this into a bigger deal that what it is.  It's not the end of the world.  There are a lot of worse things people go through so you'll be fine."  I was stunned, deeply hurt, and angry.  I wished I would have known that when he was going through a divorce - I may have done a few things differently.

But here is the lesson I learned from that night and one I hope I never forget.  Is there a scale that we measure pain, suffering, hurt, or trials on and then determine what amount of comfort we are to offer?  Do we only bear burdens, mourn, and comfort those whose trials are deemed bad enough?  After Alma had fled from King Noah and was teaching the people prior to their baptism at the Waters of Mormon he talked about what they needed to do to be called his people - covenants that anyone who is baptized has made.  Does he not say, "...as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another's burden's that they may be light.  Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in....(Mosiah 18:8-9)"  I don't know that I see a scale where burdens and trials are measured against.  And I began to wonder how many times I may have inadvertently treated someone else the same way.

I am close to my youngest brother and he and his family were back east for the holidays when they got the news.  They both called and texted and said as soon as they got back to Utah they would come visit.  And they did.  They came out one Sunday, brought all my favorite foods, and just spent the night with us talking, making plans to help our son, and ended the night on a light and fun note.  My brother, despite his being in his final year of law school, would take time out of his schedule to take our son to dinner and just talk and bond.  That touched not only my heart but made a huge impact on our son.  He now knew that he had an uncle that loved him unconditionally and was showing that love through words and action. They made sure they spent time with our family - at our house or theirs- just enjoying life and ready to listen in case we wanted to talk about our son. They were comforting, mourning, and bearing our burden along with us. I felt lighter when they were around.

I am thankful for the friends that had our son over for dinner one night so he could share his mission experiences with them.  They somehow knew that our son needed to talk about what he had experienced those ten weeks but was too painful for us to really want to hear all the stories and look at all the pictures.  They took time out of their night to have our son come over, share what was important to him, and ease his heavy burden for a time.  I am thankful for my dear friend next door who organized a birthday lunch for me shortly after our son came home with a group of sisters in our ward who had all experienced hard things.  She wasn't going to let me wallow in my misery and wanted me to see firsthand that people go through hard things and still stand tall. She and her husband, who were second parents to our son, took him to lunch or dinner every once in awhile, made sure he came to visit them after he moved out, and never stopped SHOWING him unconditional love. She allowed me to vent and cry on her couch anytime I needed it. I knew she was sustaining me. I am thankful for another dear friend who, even though they had just moved back to Utah, took over the role of organizing parties and get together's.  I had carried that role for our families and I just couldn't do it at the time - I wasn't in the mood to be happy.  She recognized that we still needed to have fun, eat good food, laugh (and cry), and took over that role for me until I could do it again.  I know that Heavenly Father surrounded me with the friends and family that were willing to bear, mourn, and comfort even if they didn't understand what we were going through.  They lifted my burdens and brought me comfort.

So what is my point in all this rambling?  That we come across people every single day that are experiencing some type of trial, heartache, or disappointment.  It is not our place to say, "Oh, well, your trial isn't bad enough so therefore I don't need to help you."  It is not our place to say, "I don't get this so therefore I don't have to help." That is not what Christ did and that is not what we are taught in the scriptures.  We are to lift, comfort, and strengthen all those we can.  Sometimes we may encounter people and situations where we can honestly say, "I know what you are going through" and know exactly what to do.  But more likely than not, we will encounter people with trials and hardships that we cannot comprehend.  But we can show Christlike love and acceptance even if we just give them a hug and say, "I'm sorry life sucks.  Do you need a Coke?  Chocolate? Tissues? A shoulder to cry on?"  Those simple words will make anyone feel safe and open the door to help you bear, mourn, and comfort with them. I am thankful that this experience has taught me to be more cognizant of others, more compassionate, less judgmental, and more accepting of everyone.  And to always keep a stash of caffeine, chocolate, and tissues. 

After our son came home I wondered if I would ever enjoy Christmas again but I felt that this year I could enjoy the holiday. It is true that time does heal wounds and a year had done a lot of healing for me. I was a much stronger, happier, and settled person over his early return at this point.  My son was doing so much better than where he was a year ago so it was easier to be happy. Now 20, he had been working full time for year, had been living on his own for 8 months - paying rent, buying food, earning and finding his way in the world. He was registered for school to start in just a couple of weeks.  He had been dating a really nice girl that had done wonders for him. She brought him back to into the church, he was attending the temple, and I was beginning to wonder if they had talked about marriage yet. Was a wedding on the horizon for 2013?  The happy feeling had returned to our home and we did our family traditions through the month of December with happiness in our hearts and things actually felt okay again.  There was still a small part of me that said, "we should still have a missionary out" but those feelings didn't last long anymore.  I was excited that all 5 of the kids would be home for Christmas (my daughter from college and my son who lived 30 minutes away) and that they were all healthy and finally all happy. 

Christmas Eve day started with our tradition of going out to breakfast as a family. Our son, who was still at his apartment, had to work until noon and wasn't able to join us which made us sad but work had to come first. He had started a new job recently and didn't have personal time yet. He was excited to come home and participate in all the other traditions we had. Our valley had been getting heavy, heavy snow storms the past week making everything beautiful for Christmas but dangerous for driving.  He did not have a good snow car but insisted on driving home to our house as soon as he got off work - when the worst part of the storm was supposed to hit. His best friend, more like his brother, and next door neighbor who was serving his mission in Japan was calling home around 3 that afternoon. Nothing would keep him from being able to talk to his friend/brother.  As a mom, I was very worried about his safety and tried to convince him to wait until the storm had passed and the plows had been out.  But he wasn't going to be swayed.  He had to be there for that phone call. Thankfully he was watched over and no harm came to him.  As he came in the door he even admitted it was a pretty scary drive out.  

He immediately went to the tree to see all the presents, hugged me and his dad, teased his sisters like brothers are supposed to, and then headed out the door to his friends house.  He was SO excited to talk to him and couldn't wait.  We told him to give this Elder our love as we loved and missed him too.  He left very happy and it showed on his face.

About an hour later we saw him walk by the window on his way in the house.  He did not have that same happy look on his face and I turned to my husband and said, "He doesn't look right.  Something happened."  My husband tends to think I can be over-sensitive and read too much into things (he's right....sometimes) and said he was fine.  He was just missing his friend. When he came in the door I immediately sensed how different he seemed.  Where was that happy person that had just left here an hour ago? Did he not get to talk to his friend? I tried to decide if he was more subdued? More introspective? More distant? Something was weighing on his mind but I wasn't sure what it was or if I was supposed to ask.  We asked how his friend was and how the conversation went and he said it was great, he was happy, and had just had a baptism. They were able to talk for about 15 minutes and it was awesome.  And that was about all.  And there wasn't a lot of time to dwell on his mood - we had family coming for dinner and I was busy getting everything ready.

We had our traditional dinner, annual cookie decorating contest, family home evening and after our company left, we all piled into our TV room to watch "A Christmas Story."  My kids, who were now all teenagers, still watched that movie every Christmas Eve and slept in the TV room together like they had when they were little.  I loved that they didn't think they were too old for that.  I continued to notice how distant my son seemed but I chalked it up to his missing his friend and nothing more.

Christmas Day was just like all the other Christmas Day's we have always had.  The kids all piled into our room at 7:30 to wake us up and we spent the morning opening presents and having a good time.  I don't think it matters how old your kids get, there is still that excitement when they see what Santa brought and how they love to watch each other open their gifts. My heart was more full this year because there was joy and happiness again.  There was something a little more special this year and something inside of me was telling me to savor this moment more than usual.  I couldn't help but wonder why. And I could still sense that something was weighing heavily on my son's mind - maybe more so this morning than last night.

After presents were opened and breakfast was done, we did what we always do; piled back into the TV room to watch new movies and eat leftovers all day while staying in our pajamas. The house is a mess and it's the only day of the year that I don't care. It's my favorite day of the year because we can just all be together and relax.  I asked my son again if everything was okay and if he needed to talk but he said he was fine. There was another big storm moving in overnight that would effect my son's 30 minute commute to work the next morning.  He was worried about a white knuckle drive and decided he would go back to his apartment Christmas night to avoid the storm and a messy commute. As a mom, it broke my heart to think of him spending Christmas night alone in his apartment with everyone gone but he said he would rather do that than drive in the bad weather.  I had learned the past year not to push so much and let him make his own choices. So we gathered up his presents, heaped leftovers into baggies, and started loading up his car.  As I hugged him goodbye I once again asked him if everything was okay and he said, "I'm fine. Everything is okay."  I knew that wasn't true but I had to respect his privacy. 

My husband started to help our son haul things out to his car while I rounded up the girls to work on "cleaning" up the house (it's more of an attempt to find some carpet on the floor).  I had two girls upstairs and two girls downstairs and we were making some progress.  About ten minutes later my 13 year old daughter came downstairs and asked why her brother was in the front room crying to dad.  My heart stopped.  I knew something was wrong and I immediately feared the worst.  I feared his girlfriend was expecting and he didn't know what to do.  Yes, I am that bad of a mom but past experience had taught me the worst happens with this child. 
 
I told the girls I had no idea what was going on but to stay downstairs and keep cleaning. I quietly came upstairs and could hear my son sobbing but no one was talking.  I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  Do I barge in there and demand to know what is going on?  Do I stand back and allow my son to unload to his dad without barging in? I quietly poked my head around the corner of the front room they were sitting in so that my husband could see me but my son could not.  My husband looked at me but didn't say a word and didn't motion for me to come sit down so I took that as my cue to let them be alone and I headed back downstairs. My head was spinning all over again and my heart was in my throat.  My husbands side of the family is genetically wired to never show emotion, never react, and never believe that anything isn't fine and my son got that DNA. Clearly something was very, very wrong because I had never seen my son cry or be this upset - not even when he was released that awful night he arrived home.

As I walked downstairs I continued to think the very worst scenarios possible.  My girls asked me what was wrong and what was going on.  I had no idea and I asked them if their brother had said anything to them last night.  Nothing had been said but they too had noticed he seemed different when he came back from talking to his friend on Christmas Eve.  We turned on a movie although I don't think any of us were paying attention.  The real movie was unfolding upstairs in the front room and we didn't have a clue what it would be about.

About an hour later the girls grew tired and wanted to go to bed - in their own rooms.  Three of the bedrooms were upstairs.  I figured enough time had gone by that we could safely go up there; maybe our son had left for home. But as we came upstairs we could hear them talking in the front room so the girls moved about the upstairs in their normal way, talking to each other, getting ready for bed, fighting over who got to shower next - the normal nightly routine.  My husband and son quietly got up and moved back into our bedroom for privacy without saying a word to anyone and shut the door. More confused looks from the girls and all I could was shrug my shoulders - I was just as clueless.  I cleaned up the kitchen, got the younger girls into bed and then went downstairs to find something on TV.  Anything to shut my mind off from creating  more horrible scenarios. 

About an hour later I finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs.  I was about to find out what was so wrong and I suddenly had a huge desire to throw up.  It reminded me of when we were caught between the two worlds of knowing he was coming home early and trying to hold on to everything being how it was supposed to be. I wasn't prepared for our world to be turned upside down again.  We were doing so well.  We had all healed and moved on.  Life was good again - I couldn't do bad again.

My husband came into the TV room and said I needed to come upstairs and hear what our son had to say.  I told him I didn't want to.  He smiled and said, "You really need to come upstairs and listen to him."  Why had he smiled?  There was nothing to smile about.  As we walked up the stairs I said, "Just tell me if I'm going to be a Grandma."  Again, he smiled and said, "Just listen to him."  Why did he keep smiling?

We walked into our bedroom where my son was sitting on our couch. He looked and sounded like someone who had been crying for a very long time.  My heart softened to see my little boy so broken and so hurt - or at least I thought he was hurting.  In that moment I knew I had to put aside my fears and not be selfish - this wasn't about me, it was about him. All that could matter at that moment was for him to know I loved him and would stand by him...again. I gave my son a big hug, held him a little longer than normal, and told him how much I loved him...no matter what. I looked at my husband for re-assurance that I could handle what was coming and he was still just smiling - a huge smile.  Now I was really confused and said, "What is going on?"

My son told me to sit down.  Fully expecting to hear the words, "You're going to be a grandma," I was confused when he said, "I have to go back." In my mind he was obviously talking about going back to his apartment that night and I told him how sorry I was he would be alone that night.  But even as I said that it didn't make sense - why would that upset him so much?  Again, I looked at my husband for some direction and he just rolled his eyes at me.  What had I missed?  My son smirked in the way that only he can do and said, "No mom. I have to go BACK."  

For once I was speechless, probably because I felt like the wind had just been knocked out of me.  My mind was racing. I looked at my husband again who was smiling even more now and then it clicked.  He wanted to go back...back to what we had spent the past year trying to forget and trying to overcome. Not once in the past two hours had this scenario raced through my mind.  This couldn't be happening. What had happened?

My son told me that over that past few months he had been having thoughts and feelings about returning to the mission field. He said he had been praying for direction on the next step in his life. His desire was to get back into school and just move on with his life but that answer didn't feel right even though he was registered for winter semester. That morning he had prayed again to really know that going back to school next month was right for him.  While he was talking to his friend in Japan and listening to him talk about the man he had just baptized, our son said he felt the Spirit bear strong witness to him that it was time for him to return.  He said he felt a fire ignite deep inside his soul during that phone call and he could not deny what he had felt. It was time to return and he knew without a doubt that was what the Lord needed him to do. Now I understood his mood, his countenance, and his silence.  He shared many more thoughts and feelings and I just listened; I was too stunned and blindsided for words.

By the time he was done sharing it was very late and he was emotionally and physically exhausted.  After we had a prayer, he went down to his room to sleep even though he knew he would face a messy commute in the morning.  As I laid in bed that night it was impossible to sleep. While my husband fell asleep with a big smile on his face I didn't share his enthusiasm. How was I supposed to get on board with something that I never wanted to experience again? I swore I would never send another missionary out - was I supposed to put our family out there again like that? I had spent every day of the past year healing from the most painful thing we had ever experienced - would we really have to go through this again? How does the process even work to go back? I fell asleep realizing no conclusions had been made, no plan put into action - we had only listened to our son literally throw up months of feelings and emotions that he needed to get off his mind.  Maybe when he got up the next morning he would feel different? Maybe in the morning everything would be like it never happened? And hopefully when he started school in a few days all this would pass. And first thing in the morning I was certainly going to talk to my next door neighbor about the phone call that had happened in her home Christmas Eve day.

From the time that I learned my missionary would be coming home to the time when he would actually show up at the airport was about three days. He had been called to a very small country very far away. My Stake President is a wise man; he forwarded my son's itinerary to me the moment he received it. He had the same concerns I had: What state of mind is this missionary in?

When I reviewed the itinerary I became very concerned. My son would be flying across the Atlantic by himself, arrive in Boston, stay a night in Boston in a La Quinta Inn by the airport, get up the next day early, get himself to the airport, and then fly from Boston to Dallas, change planes, and then fly to Salt Lake City. I did a quick Google search on the La Quinta Inn. Not good: there was a murder there not more than two years earlier. I wasn't feeling too good about things.

My Stake President dropped by. Should we have elders in Boston meet my son at the airport and have him stay with them? Should I fly to Boston and meet him there? In the end, after counseling with my wife, I decided to use accumulated credit card miles to get a ticket to Boston and then back to Salt Lake City on the same flights my son was taking. I would meet him at the airport, we'd stay together in a safe, clean hotel, and then fly back to Salt Lake City together.

This plan worked out quite well. It gave me time alone with my son. We cried. We laughed. And I saw changes in him that were impressive. He went out of his way to be a gentleman, to help people with their luggage, to make sure he said "thank-you" and "your welcome". In the time he was gone he had learned to forget himself and help others.

I need to relate what happened in Dallas during our layover, and then I'll summarize what I learned: Part I. While waiting for our plane to depart to Salt Lake City I noticed two elders standing near the gate. By the looks of the wear on their suits and shoes it was obvious they were on their way home. They had immediately noticed my son (because he was wearing his suit and tag). They knew who he was but they had no idea who I was; they couldn't make the connection between us.

When my son saw them he stood up, without hesitation, and walked over to them and shook their hands. I was impressed. I expected him to ignore them; they represented something he would not be. But he greeted them as brethren, and they, to their credit, greeted him in likewise manner.

Here is what I learned:

• It's not about me! In a previous post I shared the findings of a survey of early return missionaries. One key finding: What the parents want is irrelevant. Had I understood that principle before meeting him in Boston I would not have been so surprised. And I would have asked different questions: What now? How do you feel? What do you need from me? Instead, I focused more on me.
• The missionary department is not perfect. These guys are handling hundreds of flights every day. Maybe the La Quinta Inn by the airport is just fine. Maybe 19-year old young men really can get themselves from the airport to the hotel, and back to the airport without a problem. Maybe. But I reviewed the itinerary, I had concerns, and I had the wherewithal to do something about it. If I didn't, I think the Stake President would have called and asked the missionary department to do something different. Don't be afraid to push back if something seems sketchy.

 On that awful night our son was released as a missionary our stake president pulled my husband and I aside and said, "This won't be a long process.  He will be able to return in just a few weeks. Don't put him in school and have him find a temporary job. This will be quick."  I suppose that was meant to make us feel better but it only further confused us.  If our sons transgression was something so serious, why would he only be home a few weeks?  And then I felt angry. Couldn't something that suddenly didn't seem so serious be handled in the mission office instead of humiliating our son and family?  I had heard countless stories of that happening to other Elders - why did we have to be different?  But, as we were quickly learning, there were no simple answers and no flow chart available as to what we could expect.

So we resolved to do everything we could to keep him in that missionary mindset.  We decided it would be a great opportunity for our family to refine some habits and grow stronger spiritually.  We could ignore the mumbling teenagers for a few weeks for the sake of our son returning to the mission field in less than three months.  So we kept missionary hours, I had a constant companion while everyone else went to school and work, we had nightly scripture study on a new level, our son prayed in his language so he wouldn't loose it, the TV was kept off most of the time,...anything we could do to keep him close to the spirit and anxious to return was our number one priority.  Our girls thought we were completely nuts at times but went along because they too wanted their brother to return. 

About halfway through that "quick time period" we had been given my husband and I happened to be talking to our Bishop after church one Sunday about our son.  We asked him if he knew how many more weeks it would be before he could return.  The look on his face said it all and was followed by, "Why don't you step into my office so we can talk."  I felt gut-punched all over again.  Clearly we were in for another blow.

As we sat in his office he said he thought we knew.  My husband said, "Know what?"  We were completely in the dark but were about to be enlightened in a way I wasn't sure I was ready for.  How many blows can you be dealt in a short amount of time?  We were informed by our Bishop that the stake president had received a letter a few weeks ago from Salt Lake that stated our son wouldn't be eligible to return for a year.  Our Bishop literally watched all our hopes, energies, and plans deflate right in front of him.  We had lost.  And then my natural instinct to need to know "why" to everything kicked in and I began firing questions in rapid succession.  Why had we not been informed of this right away?  Why were we just finding out now?  Was anyone ever going to tell us on their own?  Who makes that call?  Why were we told one thing and now were being told something totally different?  Why hadn't we been given a copy of that letter since we are the ones trying to pick up the pieces and make things right?  Why was nothing straight forward and simple?  

My husband finally put his hand on my knee which was my cue to stop talking and then he simply expressed his appreciation to the Bishop for being honest with us while obviously expressing our disappointment and frustration.  It seemed so unbelievable to us that this was happening - that things could go from bad to worse.  As we walked home from the church we didn't even know what to think or say.  We had made this walk before feeling all these same emotions. We were definitely upset that no one had bothered to tell us this news sooner but there was nothing we could do about that now.

We went down to our sons room to tell him what had just happened.  And he actually seemed relieved.  Up until that moment I had firmly believed that he was going to return and all would be well again.  This was going to be a sprint not a marathon to "The Return" dream.  But clearly that was not his desire at this time. I guess I had to give him credit for not wanting to hurt us again.  He was ready to move on with life.  He had a full time job and expressed a desire to move out in a few months and try to get back into school.  The sprint was quickly falling out of reach now and was never going to happen.  I realized that it was time for me to let that dream go and accept our new reality.

As I processed our new reality over the next few days and weeks I felt I was mourning all over again.  That dream of him returning really was gone now and it was time for me to get on board. It was a huge set-back and it took me some time to come to grips with it. And in that time, and maybe this was part of the mourning process, I felt angry and decided why would I even think about allowing him to return again?  Why in the world would I put our family on the line like that again? I even told my girls on a particularly hard day that it would be "over my dead body" that another missionary ever left from our house again. And with that thought I resolved to move on with him.  It was time to stop torturing myself with a thought that was never going to happen.  I was not going to force him to return when he had no desire to because that wasn't going to end well. No one, no one, should have to experience this twice.

And with that, I was able to start letting it go.  It took months to get to the point where my "letting it go" wasn't out of anger but out of realization that it is what it is.  I think it was also a beginning point to my son healing as well.  Once that pressure of his return had been removed, he was free from that guilt and weight he had been carrying around.  He needed to know that it was okay to move on with life.  I told myself many times a day, "A mission is not a saving ordinance" before I finally believed it.  I was starting to heal, a scab was forming over the open wound.  The future was waiting - his and ours.

I spend a lot of time in my car driving my kids around.  I take them to and from school since we've always lived just close enough that they don't need a bus but just far enough away that I'm not comfortable letting them walk in this day and age.  I have a daughter that goes to dance 3-4 days a week, a daughter that plays all sports and is always at a practice, another daughter that has weekly piano lessons, swim team practices, basketball and track practices and I have a church calling that gives me the opportunity to visit different sisters in the ward.  My life and schedule has always been dictated by who needs to be where at what time.

After my son came home I spent a lot of time thinking about how wrong life felt while I would be driving my kids around.  Sometimes I would be so lost in my own thoughts and feelings that I wouldn't even realize that my kids had been talking to me.  I had merely been saying "yes" and nodding my head while hearing nothing that they were saying.  I found that I could have really good cries after dropping someone off and then feel so much better by the time I got home and no one ever knew how many tears were shed while I was alone in my car.  I had a lot of conversations with myself in my car.  If the insides of my car could talk they would have quite the story to tell. 

Sometimes I would drive up and down our street so many times in one day that I would look at each house and think about the various families that lived in those homes that were members of our ward.  When my son first came home I actually pleaded with the Lord to let us just be like all the other "normal" families in our ward because up until that moment when we got "that phone call", every family in our ward was normal and without problems to me.  As it says in the book "The Fault Beneath our Stars", "The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening outside of them, even though they contain most of our lives.  I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture."  

But in the weeks and months that followed our sons early return I began to look at each home and each family in a much different way.  My eyes and my heart began to see that there is no "normal" family and I could learn something from each home. I began to see that inside of every seemingly "normal" house it contained some difficult realities for everyone. There was the little blue lunchbox house, as my kids called it, where a young mom of 5 kids suddenly lost her husband in a tragic accident leaving her a widow with no job and education at the age of 35. There was the red brick rambler home where two of the most Christlike, faithful parents I've ever met have faced 5 of their 6 kids being addicted to drugs.  The white brick two-story home with green shutters where one son has Down's Syndrome, another son was left handicapped after a battle with meningitis, another son announced he was gay shortly after returning from his mission, and their only daughter was recently divorced with 3 young children.  The yellow and brown house next to theirs is a widow who lost her husband over 45 years ago and a son from lukemia three months after her husband died.  In the white and green siding home is a couple that has been married for over 60 years and she is now taking care of her husband who is dying of congestive heart failure.  In the cul-de-sac next to the church lies 8 homes where those families have faced children going in-active, a family that lost their mom to cancer before the oldest had graduated from high school, two families with early release missionaries that eventually fell away from the church, another family whose son committed suicide as the parents stood in the doorway and couldn't get to him fast enough to stop him and in the brown brick rambler is a 45 year old mom battling breast cancer while trying to take care of her mother who is dying from lymphoma.  The list could go on and on.  And the more time I spent driving around our ward and neighborhood the more I understood that no family goes untouched from trials so why was I naive enough to think that I could escape?

A few days later I was getting my hair done by my awesome hairdresser who could pass for the singer PINK's twin sister.  She is married to an early release missionary and is one of the greatest women I know who loves everyone unconditionally.  As we were talking she told me one of her favorite quotes that says, 'If we could all throw our problems into a pile we would choose to pull our same problems back out of that pile."  And as I drove home from her house that day and looked at all the houses I passed her words rang true in my heart.  I thought of each family and everything they were going through or had gone through and realized I wouldn't be strong enough to handle that.  Every week that I sat up front in Relief Society and looked across the room at the sisters I had grown to love so much, I realized that each of them has gone through things so much harder than I was experiencing and their testimonies and faith were a weekly example and strength to me. 

My thoughts took a different direction after that as I drove about the neighborhood hauling my kids to wherever they had to be.  I began to see another one of those tender mercies that Heavenly Father sends us when we are having hard times.  He allowed me to be surrounded by people who knew heartache, disappointment, and the floundering of their faith and allowed me to lean on their examples until I was strong enough to stand tall myself.  Everyday I drove by all these homes I felt a sense of strength and hope to realize that I was going to make it through and life really could be so much worse. I came to see that even though we can all appear to have nothing hard happening to us on the outside, the insides of our homes and souls will tell a different story.  I came to understand that the Lord will never give us more than we can handle.  He may push us to the brink but He will never push us over the brink and will never, ever leave us alone.

George Q. Cannon said, " No matter how serous the trial, how deep the distress, how great the affliction, God will never desert us.  He never has, and He never will.  He cannot do it.  It is not His character to do so.  He is an unchangeable being; the same yesterday, the same today, and He will be the same throughout the eternal ages to come.  We have found that God.  We have made Him our friend, by obeying His Gospel; and He will stand by us.  We may pass through the fiery furnace; we may pass through deep waters; but we shall not be consumed nor overwhelmed. We shall emerge from all these trials and difficulties the better and purer for them; if we only trust in Our God and keep His commandments."

I am so grateful for the different architecture that I see every day as I'm endlessly driving around.  I'm thankful for the homes that appear to be just another home and yet what goes on inside those homes stands as a reminder to me that we all have hard trials to bear.  And I'm eternally grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who will never desert us...ever.