NOTE: This was written on 30 November, but M* was sick, so it wasn’t posted then. Thus, when you read “today” it is referring to 30 November.
I returned home from my mission (in Chicago) 10 years ago today. Ten years ago! I’m old! I was ready and eager to come home. I was looking forward to sleeping in (though I now consider 6:30 to be sleeping in), no longer wearing a dress, and no longer talking to people. After a year and a half of being social and outgoing, I was really ready to be alone.
I tried not to be too trunky, though. My trainer, when I was a greenie, was going home soon after we were put together (though she had another companion after me), and her trunkiness drove me nuts. My last companion was a greenie, so I tried to keep focused on the work and not be trunky. I think I mostly succeeded.
My last couple of days were a bit different than the normal last couple of days for my mission. Normally transfers were on Thursday and the home-bound missionaries flew out on Saturday morning. However, Thursday was Thanksgiving, so transfers were moved to Friday. My last area was a nice suburb (Naperville), and a family from the ward invited my companion and I over for Thanksgiving dinner. They had a huge gathering, a million relatives and tables and food everywhere. It was pretty fun.
Friday I bid my companion farewell and was dropped off at the mission home. I was the only sister going home. It was really, really weird being around elders without a companion. Once those of us who were meeting at the mission home had all arrived, we took the mission president’s minivan (just me and the elders – it was so weird) to the temple to spend the rest of the day there.
That night was our mission farewell at the local ward building. The departing missionaries all sat on the stand and we each had a couple minutes to share our testimonies. The mission president and his wife each spoke. We could invite whoever we wanted to this farewell – church members we’d grown close to and people we’d taught and baptized. I invited several people, but only two came: one of the stake missionaries in my last ward, and a lady we had just recently taught and baptized in that ward. Each of the departing missionaries could invite one of the newly baptized member to share their testimonies (we invited them to do so ahead of time, so they weren’t suddenly put on the spot). I asked that lady (I’d use her name if I could remember it, but I’m totally drawing a blank) if she would. She was clearly uncertain and awkward, not sure of the right words to say in this new culture, but it was beautiful.
After that meeting, we returned to the mission home for a final meeting with just us missionaries and the mission president and his wife. They presented each of us with a plaque with a picture of the Chicago skyline, our name, and our mission dates. We then had individual final interviews with the mission president. It was what you’d expect. “You were a good missionary. What are your plans now? That’s nice.”
We got to bed around 2 a.m. and were up at 5 a.m. to head to the airport. Ugh. So tired. It was Saturday, November 30th. Ten years ago today. We were handed our plane tickets, stuffed our stuff and ourselves in the mission van, and drove to the airport. There were seven of us, I think, heading to Utah, though for two of them Utah was just a layover as they continued on to other states. Me and six elders. It was still weird not having another sister to be with. We had a couple hours before our flight left. We said goodbye to the elders flying elsewhere (some had an earlier flight, which is why we were there so early) and headed to our gate. We had a couple-hour layover in Denver, and then we arrived in Salt Lake.
Home. I felt very anxious. I came out of the walkway and saw my parents and sister right away. We hugged and said hello, and it was great to see them. And then the weirdest thing happened. It was so sudden and strong, it was almost tangible. With a sudden whoosh (and I swear I heard a whoosh), it felt like the last year and a half was a dream. It wasn’t real. And I was mad! I worked hard that year and a half! I suffered! It was wonderful and it was miserable, and it was usually that way every 5 minutes! And now it felt like a dream?! So weird. As I adjusted back to real life, the mission became just another memory, but that sudden shift in perception and feeling was bizarre.
The luggage for about half of the people on the flight wasn’t there. I was in that half. It ended up on another plane. I don’t know how that happened. We had a couple hours in Denver, so it isn’t as though there wasn’t time for the luggage to get to the plane. They said they’d deliver it to our house by that evening. They did.
So we went home. I went upstairs to my bedroom and took off the dress (yay!) and nametag, and threw on some sweats and a t-shirt. I didn’t know what to do with myself the rest of the day. It was only noon.
The next day, Sunday, I met with the stake president and was released. I’ve heard that some people actually feel the mantle of the calling lifted from them when they are released. I felt nothing like that. I was still just feeling weird being home. At church that day it sort of felt like the first day in a new ward after transfers. I had seven areas, so I was used to the new-ward thing. And yet… I knew these people. But the kids had grown! It was just (yes, I’m going to use that word again) weird.
But I returned to college and I adjusted to the real world again. Ten years ago.