There has been one last event looming in the background that I knew was going to be hard to get
through. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this event and was never sure how it was going to turn
out.
My son has a best friend that lives next door to us. He’s more like a brother from another mother rather
than a friend. They grew up together. They spent every moment together. His friend went to Hawaii
and Disneyland with our family. My son went on a Caribbean cruise with his family. Our families have
vacationed together. These two have been inseparable and each other’s halves since they were four
years old. Their birthdays are 10 days apart. We used to tease them and said they were really meant to
be twins but they were too distracted in heaven and one of them missed the call to go down to earth.
Our families were meant to live next to each other for these two boys.
They got their calls one week apart and left for the MTC four weeks apart. I always said I would know
the church was true based on where these two boys went on their missions. If they went anywhere
near each other than the church wasn’t true. But since it is, they were sent to opposite ends of the
earth. Two incredibly different missions that fit each boys personality.
When we got the phone call that our son would be coming home one of my first thoughts was to
my “other son” and how this would affect him and how he would react. I knew he would be just as
devastated as we were. He had only been in his country for a month and had enough to worry about
getting used to the culture and language. We emailed him, as did his parents, to tell him not to lose
focus and not to worry about what was happening here at home. He was devastated, concerned for his
very best friend and brother, and said he would pray for him like he never had before. I truly believed
that the blessings of having his friend/brother out there serving would extend to our son.
At first it was really hard for me to read my other sons weekly emails that he sent. It was a constant reminder to me that he was doing so well, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, and my son was home
and not doing so well. I became bitter for a time and wondered why it had to be my son that was home
and not theirs. They had 4 sons that had already served honorable mission and I only had one son. It
didn’t seem fair. And yet because I loved him so much and he had been such a huge part of our family I
also rejoiced and found happiness in his success. It was two conflicting emotions at times which never
made sense. But as time went on and the sting of having an early release missionary subsided, I was
able to fully enjoy his emails. I got to the point where I realized that his serving was a tender mercy
to me because I could still be a part of his missionary experiences: we could talk to him briefly when
he called, we could send him Christmas presents and packages, and we could write to him faithfully.
My four girls considered him as one of their brothers and would write to him the way they would have
written to their own brother. In a very, very small way we could feel like we had a missionary too. It
was as close as we were ever going to come to that experience.
As the time drew closer and closer to his returning home I found myself looking forward to it for a
couple of different reasons. First and foremost we were all so excited to see him again, to see how
he had grown and changed and just to have him in our home again. But second, I also felt that his
returning home would close the door on the missionary era of my sons friends. They would all be
home now and life would move into the next phase which didn’t include always talking about missions
anymore. I felt relief knowing that was going to be over – maybe I could be a part of conversations
among the moms now. One last homecoming to get through that was close to our hearts and life would
be a lot easier.
His parents knew his returning home was going to be hard for us in a way and told us they wanted us to
be at the airport with them but would leave it up to us. My husband travels for work and he admits that
when he’s walking through Salt Lake City airport and there are returning missionaries that it still hurts.
That sting is still there because we will never experience the happy side of missionaries coming home. I
told our friends that I would really have to think about it and see how we all felt about it. Not that we
didn’t want to be there but could we do it emotionally and mentally.
As we talked as a family we all agreed that the natural thing for us would to be there with his family
when he came down those stairs. We were all so excited to see him and didn’t want to miss this
opportunity. Our love for our other son overtook our fears and anxiety and we knew we could toughen
up and put our feelings of hurt aside for him. Since his parents are older (this is their youngest son – a
14 year age difference between him and his next oldest sibling) they asked if we could do the welcome
home signs for the yard and his bedroom. Having four girls they jumped right on it and spent hours
making signs, paper lanterns, and hanging streamers, and balloons. They decided since they didn’t get
to do this for their brother they were going to make it extra special for their other brother. And as we
lost ourselves in getting everything all decorated for him, we lost all thought for ourselves and didn’t
even feel jealous or envious at all. We felt nothing but joy and happiness which was a huge blessing.
The day finally came for him to come home. We all loaded into our car and drove the hour to the
airport where we all talked about things I imagined we would have talked about if it had been our
son coming home. We all waited anxiously with their family at the bottom of the escalator and when
we saw him come down those stairs we all cheered and cried. Instead of this being something that I
thought I would dread it turned out to be something that was joyful and happy. Over the next few days
we were able to spend lots of time with him just listening to his stories and asking him questions about
his mission. He was thankful for teenage “sisters” that took him shopping to buy him normal clothes
again and teach him all the things he had missed the past two years like snap chat and all those other
mindless (useless) things that young adults like to do.
At his homecoming talk it was the first time that it didn’t hurt to listen to an elder talk about the best
two years of their lives. In a very small way I think my other son allowed me to experience a very small
piece of what I’ll never know as a missionary mom and I think that small piece will be enough for me.
It’s going to have to be. And now that everyone is home life can move forward.
through. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this event and was never sure how it was going to turn
out.
My son has a best friend that lives next door to us. He’s more like a brother from another mother rather
than a friend. They grew up together. They spent every moment together. His friend went to Hawaii
and Disneyland with our family. My son went on a Caribbean cruise with his family. Our families have
vacationed together. These two have been inseparable and each other’s halves since they were four
years old. Their birthdays are 10 days apart. We used to tease them and said they were really meant to
be twins but they were too distracted in heaven and one of them missed the call to go down to earth.
Our families were meant to live next to each other for these two boys.
They got their calls one week apart and left for the MTC four weeks apart. I always said I would know
the church was true based on where these two boys went on their missions. If they went anywhere
near each other than the church wasn’t true. But since it is, they were sent to opposite ends of the
earth. Two incredibly different missions that fit each boys personality.
When we got the phone call that our son would be coming home one of my first thoughts was to
my “other son” and how this would affect him and how he would react. I knew he would be just as
devastated as we were. He had only been in his country for a month and had enough to worry about
getting used to the culture and language. We emailed him, as did his parents, to tell him not to lose
focus and not to worry about what was happening here at home. He was devastated, concerned for his
very best friend and brother, and said he would pray for him like he never had before. I truly believed
that the blessings of having his friend/brother out there serving would extend to our son.
At first it was really hard for me to read my other sons weekly emails that he sent. It was a constant reminder to me that he was doing so well, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, and my son was home
and not doing so well. I became bitter for a time and wondered why it had to be my son that was home
and not theirs. They had 4 sons that had already served honorable mission and I only had one son. It
didn’t seem fair. And yet because I loved him so much and he had been such a huge part of our family I
also rejoiced and found happiness in his success. It was two conflicting emotions at times which never
made sense. But as time went on and the sting of having an early release missionary subsided, I was
able to fully enjoy his emails. I got to the point where I realized that his serving was a tender mercy
to me because I could still be a part of his missionary experiences: we could talk to him briefly when
he called, we could send him Christmas presents and packages, and we could write to him faithfully.
My four girls considered him as one of their brothers and would write to him the way they would have
written to their own brother. In a very, very small way we could feel like we had a missionary too. It
was as close as we were ever going to come to that experience.
As the time drew closer and closer to his returning home I found myself looking forward to it for a
couple of different reasons. First and foremost we were all so excited to see him again, to see how
he had grown and changed and just to have him in our home again. But second, I also felt that his
returning home would close the door on the missionary era of my sons friends. They would all be
home now and life would move into the next phase which didn’t include always talking about missions
anymore. I felt relief knowing that was going to be over – maybe I could be a part of conversations
among the moms now. One last homecoming to get through that was close to our hearts and life would
be a lot easier.
His parents knew his returning home was going to be hard for us in a way and told us they wanted us to
be at the airport with them but would leave it up to us. My husband travels for work and he admits that
when he’s walking through Salt Lake City airport and there are returning missionaries that it still hurts.
That sting is still there because we will never experience the happy side of missionaries coming home. I
told our friends that I would really have to think about it and see how we all felt about it. Not that we
didn’t want to be there but could we do it emotionally and mentally.
As we talked as a family we all agreed that the natural thing for us would to be there with his family
when he came down those stairs. We were all so excited to see him and didn’t want to miss this
opportunity. Our love for our other son overtook our fears and anxiety and we knew we could toughen
up and put our feelings of hurt aside for him. Since his parents are older (this is their youngest son – a
14 year age difference between him and his next oldest sibling) they asked if we could do the welcome
home signs for the yard and his bedroom. Having four girls they jumped right on it and spent hours
making signs, paper lanterns, and hanging streamers, and balloons. They decided since they didn’t get
to do this for their brother they were going to make it extra special for their other brother. And as we
lost ourselves in getting everything all decorated for him, we lost all thought for ourselves and didn’t
even feel jealous or envious at all. We felt nothing but joy and happiness which was a huge blessing.
The day finally came for him to come home. We all loaded into our car and drove the hour to the
airport where we all talked about things I imagined we would have talked about if it had been our
son coming home. We all waited anxiously with their family at the bottom of the escalator and when
we saw him come down those stairs we all cheered and cried. Instead of this being something that I
thought I would dread it turned out to be something that was joyful and happy. Over the next few days
we were able to spend lots of time with him just listening to his stories and asking him questions about
his mission. He was thankful for teenage “sisters” that took him shopping to buy him normal clothes
again and teach him all the things he had missed the past two years like snap chat and all those other
mindless (useless) things that young adults like to do.
At his homecoming talk it was the first time that it didn’t hurt to listen to an elder talk about the best
two years of their lives. In a very small way I think my other son allowed me to experience a very small
piece of what I’ll never know as a missionary mom and I think that small piece will be enough for me.
It’s going to have to be. And now that everyone is home life can move forward.
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