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My son came home from his mission.
With 10 months left, he came home. He realized that there were some things that he needed to take care of, so he came home.
On a Friday afternoon I got a call from our stake president. He said that he needed to talk to me and my husband and that we should call him together as soon as possible. I said sure and hung up. And then my mind started to wonder… was one of us getting a stake calling? I had a really uneasy feeling, so I called him back and asked if he needed to talk to me with my husband there or if he wanted to talk to my husband with me on the line. He said he needed to talk to us both at the same time. I asked if my missionary was okay, he said yes, and then I knew.
I knew in my heart that my son was coming home, and I had no idea why.
Flight info came later that day. We were to pick him up on Monday morning. I was slammed with a cocktail of emotions. I was proud that he was strong enough to make this right! But I was heartsick. I was mad— at him, at me, at everyone! I was excited to see him, and then I felt guilty that I was excited. I felt huge guilt. Where had I gone wrong as a parent? And I was worried! Worried about how he was feeling, worried for his mission president, worried for his companion, worried about how our ward would treat him, and worried because what the heck do you do with a 20-year-old boy—ok, man—for 6 months?
With such short notice, I ended up being the only one in the family that could go up to the airport to pick him up. Boy, that was a long drive! Once at the airport, I stared down the walkway, searching each face for my son. Then I saw him. He looked tired and humble.
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