I'm referring to the day you actually went to the airport to go home.

I barely slept the night before because I was so excited. I woke up that morning feeling like the world had been lifted off me. The one last thing I had to do before going to the airport was going to the mission presidents home for a farewell breakfast with the other guys who were leaving.

After that, we all got in a van and headed to the airport. I remember sitting in the van thinking about all the previous times I had been going to somewhere near the airport, but never being able to actually go there. Now it was really happening. It's a strange feeling when the day you've dreamed about for so long finally arrives. It actually was a great as I thought it would be. As I sat in the airport, the feeling of relief was overwhelming. I really was going home. I got on the plane feeling like I didn't have a care in the world. I looked out the window as we took off and knew I would never have to return to the place that caused me so much pain. It was a truly beautiful day.

I spent the last night of my mission in the mission home. The next morning I talked with some elders who had just arrived 4 days earlier and they were lamenting the fact that they wouldn't get to see the X-Men movie that was coming out in a matter of days.

I, being a big fan of the X-Men, was ecstatic and told them I'd be going home in a few hours. The rest was pretty much as brett described it above, except that I guess I didn't feel that Japan had caused me pain (at the time).

I didn't (couldn't) sleep a wink on the way home. I got a little teary when I saw the coast of Washington state. Hopped onto a little puddle jumper for the last leg. Had a family get-together at my aunt's house, then drove home.

First thing I did before entering my house was take off my shoes. I didn't fall asleep until about 5 am local time, so I figure I was up for about 40 hours straight.

The asswipe AP's would pick one elder each month going home and tell him that they had lost his passport and he couldn't go home. I was pissed off that they had chose me for their head game. The total lack of urgency in the AP's voice as he told me this, along with my natural built in bullshit detector had me see right through him. I refused to provide the AP's with any entertainment.

One of the other guys in the mission office who I was good friends with let me know that the AP's did this each month to a returning elder. The month before they had apparently brought a missionary to tears.

So Christ-like.

And that is how my mission ended. Two assholier than thou AP's playing head games. I was pissed off. I was also pissed off because the MP obviously knew these two dicks did this yet didn't stop them. I have to admit that I also felt hurt because it became very clear to me at that moment what the AP's thought of me as a missionary.

I didn't let it get to me though. As soon as I was on my way to the airport I could have given a rats ass if those AP's - or the MP for that matter - were gang raped by gorillas. The feeling of freedom I experienced as I left is a sensation that I have yet to experience since.

I love beatings. It feels soooo good when they stop!

To play head games with a kid who has given two years of his young life to the organization and is - quite naturally - more than ready to go home. . .That's downright DISGUSTING.

I hope that the sickos who did that have come to realize how totally wrong that was.

My mission president was busy berating one of the Assistants who had gotten a ticket on the way to dropping me off at the mission office.

So we left late going to the airport.

And I missed my flight.

Happened by the merest of coincidences to watch Monty Python's "Holy Grail" starting about here:

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/ba1e66b5bf/monty-python-holy-hand-grenade-from-montypythonfan

Quite the resurrection after two years of being dead!



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/15/2014 03:11PM by zenjamin.

I had been counting the days and hours, of course, so I was pleasantly surprised we would be going home three days early. The hitch was that they were shutting down my area (the most northern one in Saskatchewan) and my comp and I were to drive to Calgary to return our mission-issue truck. Oh boy, 500 miles in a stripper truck, gas at our own expense, of course. We were going home early because the MP was going to some meeting in SLC. I'm glad that sanctimonious, lying, bullying @sshole wasn't on our flight.

But my feelings that day? Total relief, and excited that I'd be back to a normal life.

I remember feeling relieved. No more bothering strangers all day. No more being forced into awkward conversations with people who'd clearly rather be doing something else. No more tracting all day in the rain. No more being trapped day and night with someone I couldn't stand. No more feeling as though someone else's eternal salvation was somehow my responsibility. Lots and lots of relief! And plenty of guilt about feeling so relieved.

I also remember there was some movie I wanted to watch on the plane ride home, but I didn't have my headphones. And I was too worried about looking bad in front of the other elders to flag down a flight attendant and buy a pair. So I just sat through the whole movie trying to learn how to read lips! Lol!

My last day was very interesting. In the mission home I had an enlightening discussion with the AP who I'd gone to the same college with. He told me that the MP had discussed with him how I never "got with the plan" on my mission because I refused to play games. The mission president had thought up this stupid game where you got "runs" or points for every discussion you taught and if you got all of them complete you "scored" a home run. I told the MP straight-up that I was a convert and if I had known the missionaries teaching me considered my conversion a game I'd have been hurt deeply and felt disrespected. The MP never got that. The AP did get it so we sat together that night dissecting the idiot things the MP had done over the years. This MP also thought that I only needed four hours sleep per night because I was a sister missionary and that three missionaries who had appendicitis were sick only because they were "not right with the Lord". It was so cathartic to find that my college friend was not sucked into the crazy that was the mind of this MP. Side note: the MP was a medical doctor !!!

When I got home my parents didn't recognize me because I'd lost so much weight. (Frankly, I looked and felt awesome!) Don't get me wrong. I liked my mission most of the time when I had great companions. I loved being outdoors and I loved being in Europe. I didn't love porting (tracting) but met some incredible people and learned a lot about other cultures. But it was nice getting home and seeing my family again and having my freedom back.

I don't remember. I just remember that once I was home I forced my mom's stake president to release me ASAP. Also, I couldn't stand that my mom kept telling everybody she saw that I had just returned with honor from my mission (she had moved to Utah while I was out).

I didn't appreciate being used as a trophy and I told her so. I couldn't get back to AZ fast enough.

Instead of relief at being home I felt dirty. Some returned missionaries know what I'm talking about. I felt like I'd been used...

kolobian Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------

> Instead of relief at being home I felt dirty. Some
> returned missionaries know what I'm talking about.
> I felt like I'd been used...

Same here. Trophy and everything.
Dirty feels also - but only years later figured it was because I had let myself be used, and was so gullible.

They take your finest most worthy commendable human attributes and exploit these against you.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/15/2014 03:21PM by zenjamin.

I was alone on my flight back home. The others had gone the day before. I was the only sister missionary leaving that day. I do remember being relieved. When I did get home, I sat in a darkened room for three weeks because I didn't want to talk to anyone. My mother had been told that a lot of the mishies came home like that so for once she left me alone. It was then I planned my first step to the life I have today.

On my last day, my companion and I went to the train station to head to the Mission Home. I asked him if he would leave me alone with one of the female members that I was totally infatuated with. He agreed. After all, I was still clearly in his sight. At any rate, she and I had a huge makeout session on the platform for about 30 minutes. I saw no sense at all in traveling halfway around the world and then having to wait until I was officially released from my mission.

Did the same with a mish... sweet memories. :)

Mixed feelings. On the one hand, huge relief. I had a smile on my face that would not go away. It felt like being let out of prison. I now had a new life ahead of me. Freedom...

But on the other hand, I knew that I had changed and was apprehensive about adjusting to post mission life. It turned out I had a huge adjustment problem going home. A few weeks after being home I was extremely depressed. Culture shock or something.

I still have dreams to this day of being called on a mission and turning it down.

Wow I just noticed…I left for my mission on January 15th and got home from my mission on January 15th….weird.

You know how your not suppose to be alone while on your mission.
Well the Zone leader left me at the buss station. I was there alone for about an hour. Then no one was at the other bus station to pick me up to take me to the mission home. I was there about an hour before I called to see if anyone was coming. Then had to wait another hour. In the mission home I sat in the basement for a couple hours until the mission president was able to see me. Was also alone durning that time. Made a promiss to the mission president not to have oral sex. Went to bed, got up early, was taken the the airport and left alone for 3 hours until my flight.

Glorious!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Went to the mission headquarters checked out took a taxi to the airport got on the plane went home.

I was in the farthest area from the mission home (a 2-day bus ride). I simply got a letter from the MP telling me when to report to the mission home. No bus schedule like normal transfers. I arranged for my greenie comp to be with the other pair of missionaries in the area (turns out they couldnt stand him so they left him in this brazilian arcade for the afternoon, he left and impregnated our last baptism).

Anyway... after the first leg of my journey I arrived at the bus station aroud 5-6pm and the local Elders I had arraigned to stay with were not there. Luckily the bus station was in an area I had been in a year earlier. I got a Taxi and went to where we had lived assuming they still lived there. Naturally they didnt. I hauled all my bags to a members house a few blocks away so they could direct me to the missionaries new digs. This being Brazil nobody had a car so the members young son walked with me (and all my earthly possessions) to their house a few miles away. I ended up sitting on the steps outside and playing with some kids in the street until the missionaries got home. They acted like they forgot. (I could write a whole other post about the dynamics between American and Brazilian missionaries but I will leave it for now).

I spent the night in their house on a spare hammok. The next day being p-day the Brazilian missionaries showed no intent on getting up and escorting me back to the bus-station. So once again I got all my stuff and hauled it a couple miles to the bus-station. This is when the saving moment of those two days occured. That local member saw me. You know, that former missionary/current ward mission leader who lived to catch missionaries in any indiscretion. Anyway this guys spots me from down the street and comes speed walking over. He doesnt offer to help me with my bags or ask if I need help he just yells "Elder! You arent supposed to be alone!" I just laughed at him and said I was going home couldnt care less about what he thought I was supposed to be doing.

Anyway I made it to the bus station. APs (friends) were waiting for me at the Joao Pessoa bus station and I spent an uneventful night chatting with them and hanging out with the other Elder going home the next day. I dont remember much about the actual flight home other then I was exhausted and just couldnt wait to be home. I think I watched that Nick Cage movie about stealing cars while on the plane. When I came down the escalators at the SLC airport my family was there to great me, Im not going to lie it was pretty fantastic. I even kissed my girlfriend right then and there (we drove straight to the church where the Stake President released me) so less sinful kissing could follow. Long story longer, 11 years later we are married and both out of the church and happier then ever.

It's pretty much a blur in my mind. I had been pretty sick for 2 months; doctors in the country recommended that I be allowed to go home and after I got to the mission home, the president did not want to send me home, because I would be the first missionary he sent home early, and it would reflect badly on him. I spent days locked in a dorm type room in the mission home until I was finally able to contact my doctor at home and my parents, and the MP agreed to send me home at the next transfer. My second companion was now working in the mission home, and he drove the van to the airport, I remember shaking hands and he told me to "get the hell on the airplane before the MP changes his mind" I remember climbing on the plane and lifting off and watching pieces of ice float in the black water of the fjord below, I put on headphones and heard non-LDS pop music for the first time in 18 months - it was wonderful. Our plane made an emergency landing in Montreal I remember all the other people were afraid but how happy I felt climbing down onto the runway. Free at last. After several hours they put us on another plane and I remember not being strong enough to carry my own bags at O'Hare and then the last flight where we flew over the dingy brown mountains and landed safely at home. My parents, girlfriend, Bishop met me ... and the whole awful 18 months before it, seemed like a very bad dream.

My nephew, as well as all the leaving missionaries, was handed a book of mormon as he left for the airport and told he had one last chance to teach someone on the way home.

My asshat MP had finally used up the threat of sending me home because I WAS going home. He had one more card to play in our war of wills however. A few days before I was to leave Calgary the air traffic controlers in all of Canada decided to go on strike. No flight home to Arizona from the January Canadian deep freeze for me. Good old Pres NR told me I would just have to stay and wait it out. The thought of having to spend five extra minutes with the king of all insurance salesman masquerading as a spiritual leader of men was more than I could take.
I made it clear that one way or the other I was going home. In those days you did not need a passport to cross the border so I would be boarding the next bus for Great Falls, Montana (nearest airport) and I felt I was owed at least a ride to the bus station. In the end I think he was as glad to be rid of me as I was of him. He was a truly reprehensibe man that showed me a side of church leadership I never knew existed.
I don't think I have ever felt as much joy as when that bus reached the United States border. I was finally free of two years paramilitary indoctrination and ridicule. Even when the border patrol boarded the bus looking for draft dodgers (vietnam war) and delayed the bus I was unconcerned that I might miss my flight.
They must have called ahead because the plane in Great Falls had the engines running when I boarded. They immediately shut the door and we took off, leaving two of the most bizarre years of my life behind.

My brother arrived in SLC from Brazil. The church wouldn't pay for his ticket home, and neither would my parents. It was January. He hitch hiked 800 miles home.

My parents had been in Idaho a year earlier. They picked up a mishey that was hitchhiking home. It was snowing and freezing cold. The van wasn't running like it should. The had the missionary sit under the hood and do something with the engine to keep it running down the highway. I can't imagine how miserable that must have been. My parents thought it was great! It's where they got the idea that my brother could find his own way home when the time came. My parents weren't poor. The least they could have done was gave him a $20 bus ticket home. My brother never talked about it. He's never talked about any of the abuse they heaped on him. He's still TBM.

madalice - my brother was in Brazil too. I was swearing at my monitor about your parent's abuse (plus the MP) letting your brother walk 800 miles home. I know the Panama area, and I wouldn't let a dog let alone a person walk (or hitchhike) the supposed continental highway.

It was from SLC North mission in 1984. I was told by the MP a few days before that I would be staying 4 days longer because it was cheaper to fly me home after conference since it was home to Oz. I didn't have the nerve to argue. It was fortunate also in that the missionary who converted my family in the 70's offered to take me on for a few days but the a-hole MP flatly refused both my request and his.

So here I was on the last evening at the mission home in Bountiful with everyone celebrating. I was even cruelly dragged along to the airport and waved the rest of the group off and got dumped at the ZL's. Wasn't to bad as they left me to my own devices and I just caught up with some of my old greenies and other comps. Went back to my first area and caught up with some of the girls.

being a foreigner I got a ticket into conference easily and went to one session and sat near the front. The one thing that annoyed me as it reminded me I was held back was that one guy from my district who left a few days before for California was back with his girl friend and was making out with her while me and a couple of my comps were at the same house trying to do the right thing and watch a session of conference at a members home.

On the day I went home, no fanfare or farewells. The ZL'S dropped me off at the terminal at SLC and I flew out to either LA or SF (can't remember now). I don't know how many times people spoke to me at the airport asking me where my comp was. I took great pleasure in stating I was on the way home and I didn't need a comp anymore.

Got to OZ, was met by family, was released in the afternoon and was on a girl's doorstep that night - just to visit. I hadn't warned her I was coming home but just vague in letters up to that point. Didn't realize how awkward I'd feel being around a girl I'd written to my whole mission so I barely said much, just read the paper for half an hour then went home.

I was being sent home early. Technically, my father showed up in San Diego, and picked me up there, because I had had a bit of a breakdown, so we spent the last two days going around San Diego and seeing some of the tourist stuff. San Diego is so huge though, that we barely scratched the surface. I've never been back, too poor and too many bad memories. For my father (who I later learned was a closeted NOM at the time) it was his first time in the city, and he loved it so much he has returned numerous times with other family members.

The last real day of my mission, was spent with the APs, who basically dragged me around like a prisoner. We had just gotten paid, and one of the Apes pointed out that my parents had basically paid for the rest of my month (actually, my father had paid for the rest of the remaining year) and that the church didn't give refunds. If I didn't take the money, the church was going to take it back. He then told me, that according to the rules they were confiscating my ATM card, however, if I gave them each twenty bucks, maybe they wouldn't confiscate it until after I went over to that ATM over there.

So I go over, pull out all my money, which is just north of two hundred, hand the APs their bribe, and pocket the rest. Then I handed my card over. We then waited at the airport to pick up my Dad, then I went with him, and watched TV in the hotel. I was technically not released, my father pointed out, he didn't think God would mind with what I had been through. I basically decided, that as long as I didn't watch anything r-rated or pornographic I would be okay.

Our Pres, Tagg, was actually ok. I can't say he was bad or anything damaging like stories I hear, and I did get up to some stupid things. Hitchhiking, sleeping in ditches, tv in flat for a month, skateboarding at night...towed by cars, going to JW Kingdom halls for a bash....often. going to brethren halls, highway 61 compounds. Pubs to watch rugby. Saturday was Radio Australia day, we had a shortwave radio, listen to the footy. All night card games with members, looooong bike rides. Other stories, just a headache for the pres as the ZLs always ragged us out.

the Last night at the mission house, low key.
Lunch, then he said in one on one, basically don't be afraid to marry young and start a family.

So we get on the plane, fly NZ back to Oz, and this SMOKINGLY beautiful woman of my dreams- who was kind of a girlfriend for a while before my mission, was at the airport to see me. (Ie...Game. On)

She was a non member.
She later joined. We married, we had many wonderful and not so wonderful experiences together in the church since.
And then, 20 years later, we and our children walked out of the church together, for the last time.
I am an incredibly lucky man.

Yes, It was a good day. The kissing was probably only PG rated, but the dopamine and endorphins or whatever chemicals guys have just carried me out of the wallow of some potential misery (because, like probably most missionaries, there was a bit of trauma brought home with me) to heights I never experienced on the mission.

Ahh, I had found heaven.

Tough day.

I had a final interview with the MP in which he tore up the letter in which I had confessed to having sex with a companion some months before. He told me to never talk about it again and then he cried. I'm not sure why.

When I got to the airport the guy I had sex with was waiting for me. He'd been given permission to take me some mail that had arrived after my transfer. We walked down the hall toward the ticketing area and shared a long hug, then I headed down the concourse and never heard from him again.

On the mission side of things, nothing eventful about leaving. Had standard exit interview, final dinner the night before in the mission home, and then flying out.

Flew out of Vegas in the morning. Layover in SLC. My two best friends and my sister showed up at the SLC airport to see me during the layover. They somehow deliberately neglected to tell the girl I liked (now my wife) that I was coming through. Asshats. Flight takeoff from SLC was delayed and it caused me to miss a connecting flight in Cincinnatti. Spent like eight hours chillin' in the airport waiting for the next one and had to be routed through Charlotte and then finally to podunk-town. Eventually arrived home. It was one long-ass day.

There were three of us who had been in the LTM together who ended up in the same city in Germany, so we headed to Munich together, but went a day early to play. One of the others had decided he wanted to work up to his last day, so he insisted that we spend at least a bit of time tracking, although that is a total waste. We took the S-Bahn out to the Olympic Village, since I wanted to see a few things in any case. We went tracking in one of high rise apartment buildings in the old Olympic Village. We hit a few doors, and then, for what turned out to be our final door of our missions, an older woman (WWII era) opened the door. Typical older woman, still dressed in black, mourning her dear departed hubby. "Oh, I am too old to change," she said. Well, this hard charging, but now burned our elder looked at her, and stated, "You are right". He then leaned over, pulled the door shut, and walked away.

That night, the MP took us to dinner at Wiener Wald, which is about the same as Sizzler here. Two years previously, the former MP had us to his home, where is dear wife cooked a wonderful meal. Now, two years later, the new MP and wife could not be bothered to deal with us.

After dinner, the APs took us back to the old hotel they stashed us at, and told us not to leave until they returned in the morning to get us to go to the airport. They were not back in their van before we were out the back door to go play in Munich.

I will leave out the final interview with MP, since it was not a good memory.

The last couple of days were the most fun. Hawaiian missionaries got to go to the Polynesian Cultural Center, something off limits while a regular missionary. They treat you like kings there, which was nice, plus all we wanted to do was go watch the Tahitian dancing where they tell the story with their hips.

The next day is the day we leave. We went to the temple in Laie, which is a considerable drive (at least it felt like it) from Honolulu; maybe 2 hour drive. Then we had a testimony meeting, one of the worst ever as people try to outdo each other with mission stories. This was followed by dinner and then going to the airport. We took the red eye flight direct to Salt Lake City which was a pain in the ass for me because I was going to Texas. They could've booked me on a direct to Dallas and I could've connected from there, but the geniuses wanted to keep us all together, I'm guessing because it was cheaper, so I had to fly to SLC, wait 3 or 4 hours, catch a flight to Dallas, then wait another 3 hours and got my flight home. Most of my buddies were stopping in SLC, so they all got home at 8am. Not being from Utah, I had to wait on all of these flights and didn't get home until 5:30pm that day. So I left Honolulu at 10:30 the night before and got home at 5:30pm. I stress again, they could've flown me direct to Dallas and then connected home which could've gotten me home by 10am. I looked it up while still in Hawaii. You'd think after two years of free labor they could've gotten me home faster.

It was awkward coming home and trying to readjust to real life. Now all I feel is a bit of burn from them because I would've gotten my bachelors and masters degrees 2 years earlier than I did. Oh well. Probably wouldn't have met my wife now had I not gone through it so I don't mind it too much.

I was afraid I would die in a bullet train accident or fiery plane crash before I made it back, it would have been par for the course...