I hate running into people that know my son went on a mission but somehow missed the fact that he returned too soon. I guess I need to take responsibility for that. After all, I was so diligent about letting the world know he was going to serve in a remote place no one has ever heard of that I guess I should have been just as diligent in letting the world know that didn’t end the way I expected. Again, it would be nice if the church would give you a pamphlet telling you what proper protocol is. I was at the auto repair store the other day and an old ward member asked how my missionary was doing. It’s always an awkward moment that makes me instantly sick to my stomach. Every single emotion I felt is suddenly brought to the surface all over again. I will admit I’ve gotten much better at making a joke about it and trying to quickly change the subject after the obligatory, surface information has been given. Nearly eight months later I can actually get through it without breaking down. But inside, it tears me apart. Every single time. I wonder if it will stop. Will I always feel that prick through my heart anytime I see a missionary announcement, hear of a farewell or homecoming, or a mother talking excitedly about her missionary? You are suddenly shut out of a world you anticipated with all your heart for 19 years. It’s a brutal slamming of the door that will forever leave a scar. The hardest part for me is that no one has explained any of this to me that logically makes sense. The only person that can do that is my son and he has not/will not been totally honest with us yet. So I am left with my wild imagination that creates my own scenarios.
The first few weeks my son was home every time the doorbell rang I thought, “This is it. The sheriff is here to haul away my son for something illegal that he did. It’s why he was sent home right?” But the sheriff never showed up – at least not yet anyway. The first thing I asked my son when he called that night from the airport was, “Are we going to need to hire an attorney?” He said “no.” I said, “I guess we can get through anything if we don’t need an attorney.” But then I started to get angry the sheriff hadn’t come to haul him away. What kind of mother thinks that? But in my mind it placed a tangible, logical explanation to something that made no sense to me. So then I began to wonder when some tramp of a girl was going to show up on our front door introducing us to our new grandchild that she had been secretly raising for a couple of years. Worked for John Edwards for awhile right? Again, that offers a logical explanation as to why my son was home. And again, that never happened – at least not yet anyway. Maybe my son signed away his parental rights and the child will come back one day to stake claim to his inheritance when we are rich and famous.
And then I begin to fear the very worst, maybe my son is struggling with same gender attraction. I review his life in my mind in every waking moment that I have. How will I ever accept the realization that my son may not bring us a future daughter-in-law, but rather another son-in-law? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that idea. But again, at least it’s a logical, tangible explanation as to what was so horrible that my son had to come home. Why does the Bishop, Stake President and Mission President get to know and we, as parents, don’t? After all, we are the ones in the trenches picking up the pieces and we have no idea what pieces we are trying to glue back together.
The first few weeks my son was home every time the doorbell rang I thought, “This is it. The sheriff is here to haul away my son for something illegal that he did. It’s why he was sent home right?” But the sheriff never showed up – at least not yet anyway. The first thing I asked my son when he called that night from the airport was, “Are we going to need to hire an attorney?” He said “no.” I said, “I guess we can get through anything if we don’t need an attorney.” But then I started to get angry the sheriff hadn’t come to haul him away. What kind of mother thinks that? But in my mind it placed a tangible, logical explanation to something that made no sense to me. So then I began to wonder when some tramp of a girl was going to show up on our front door introducing us to our new grandchild that she had been secretly raising for a couple of years. Worked for John Edwards for awhile right? Again, that offers a logical explanation as to why my son was home. And again, that never happened – at least not yet anyway. Maybe my son signed away his parental rights and the child will come back one day to stake claim to his inheritance when we are rich and famous.
And then I begin to fear the very worst, maybe my son is struggling with same gender attraction. I review his life in my mind in every waking moment that I have. How will I ever accept the realization that my son may not bring us a future daughter-in-law, but rather another son-in-law? I can’t even begin to wrap my head around that idea. But again, at least it’s a logical, tangible explanation as to what was so horrible that my son had to come home. Why does the Bishop, Stake President and Mission President get to know and we, as parents, don’t? After all, we are the ones in the trenches picking up the pieces and we have no idea what pieces we are trying to glue back together.
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