My fellow RMs, what was your last day of your mission like? What transpired? Or what did you do on your last day or the day you were to travel home?

My last day was the happiest day of my life I have ever had. Was yours?

Here is my account of my last day. Sorry if it's a little long but I hope you enjoy it.....



RELEASED FROM THE MISSION PRISON
At long last the happiest day I have ever known came. It was the last day I had to spend in the Virginia Roanoke Mission. That day was Friday, April 13, 1979 and for me, it is a date that lives in infamy. My time in this mission hell-hole was over! That Friday the 13th was a lucky day and I have celebrated every April 13th since then as a personal holiday.

I remember so clearly how that wonderful Friday the 13th day started. I woke up at the usual 6:30AM, had my shower, dressed, and sat down to a bowl of “Captain Crunch” while my companion showered. Sitting there alone, looking around, and seeing my bags packed and laying on my bed, it finally hit me with full force that I would never have to sleep on that bed or wake up to another morning in this or any other Virginia cockroach infested dump again. With each spoonful of Captain Crunch, a mental list grew in my mind of things I would never have to do again. The list included:

1. I would never have to go out and knock on another door and try to convince already happy people that they could become happier if they gave up 10% of their money, reduced their weekend to one day, allowed themselves to be saddled with endless callings of useless make-work, alienated themselves from family and friends, and eventually act out disemboweling themselves while dressed up as the Pillsbury dough boy. (Talk about a tough sell)

2. I would never again have to ride a bicycle in a suite sweating like a pig in the summer Virginia heat and humidity or get frostbite in the bone chilling winter. (I have never ridden a bicycle again.)

3. I would never have to eat starchy and pasty crap for food because of no money. (Pasta of any kind is no longer a block in my food pyramid. It has been replaced with the ‘donut’ block.)

4. I would never again have to endure the ridicule and the endless reaming from any church leader and especially from a pinhead insurance salesman mission president named Frank Moscon. (I am so glad he is dead. I could not be less sad).

5. I would never again have to overcome suicidal depression and loneliness.

6. I would never again spend another Christmas away from loved ones. (I only worship Santa now.)

7. I would never again be tied to someone 24/7 that I did not want to be with.

8. I would never again deprive myself of the enjoyment of music that I liked.

9. I would never again live to a set of idiotic and conflicting rules while performing a smothering religious duty.

10. I would never again be deprived of the love, touch, and kiss of a woman.

11. I would never again respond to anyone calling me "Elder Flash".

12. I would never again……….

You can fill in the rest, my fellow RM’s. You know how long the list can be.

Oh, what joy and happiness I felt as I thought about the things I would not have to do anymore. I relished in the thoughts of being home again, restarting my life again, being with Kathy again, and being called by my first name again. I was so happy that as I poured myself another bowl of “Captain Crunch” with half of the cereal ending up on the table.


MY LAST BUS RIDE TO ROANOKE
I had to go to the mission home in Roanoke to get my plane tickets so I booked a seat on the local Greyhound mini-van bus to Roanoke. At the bus station, I said my goodbyes to my companion and the other Elders in my district and when I got into the van, I looked out the window at my fellow Elders for the last time, waved, turned away, and never looked back. The looks on their faces as I waved was of envy and jealousy. I knew they were wishing so hard to be in my place. Their Friday would be another lonely day of mind numbing tracting but not mine. I never had to knock on another door again.

This particular morning seemed so fresh and alive. I had not had such a wonderful morning for 2 years and I almost forgot what it was like to live again. I could smell the aroma from a nearby donut shop. Never could afford the donuts though on my meager budget. I relished the taking of my first real breaths of fresh air in two years.

The early morning ride to Roanoke took about an hour. Passing through and out of the Martinsville/Collinsville area, I mumbled to myself a quiet ‘good riddance’ to that hellhole area and also mumbled ‘good riddance’ to some particular members of the branch there who had caused me so much unnecessary pain. Never again would I have to put up with their soap opera antics. The branch there was quite small and really only a twig.

I spent most of the journey watching the countryside go by and relaxing. Being the only passenger made the journey even more relaxing. I was enjoying for the first time the green of all the foliage of the area without that feeling of dread of having to start tracting in another new area once the journey was through. The thought of knowing that this was my last bus ride in Virginia and the start of a journey that would end with me at home and free from this mission hell hole made me feel giddy inside. I felt like a little boy going to Disneyland for the first time.

I worked on starting a conversation with the driver to end the silence. This was proving difficult as the bus driver knew I was a Mormon missionary by the way I was dressed and the tell-tale nametag. At first, he was reluctant to talk with me as he thought I would start talking Mormonism to him. I could sense this so I told him that I was going home today and had no intention of discussing religion or Mormonism with him. I said this as I took off the name tag and put it in my pocket as he watched. Hearing this he relaxed and began to open up.

We had a fun conversation all the way to Roanoke. We talked about his job and the unusual cargo he was carrying (10 gallons of horse cum) and about his poor experiences with other missionaries he had bussed around. He commented to me that I was not like any of the other Elders he met before. He said I was genuine in my demeanor and well mannered and was glad I did not try to convert him. We finally rolled into the Roanoke bus station around 8:30am. Waiting there for me was a couple of office Elders to drive me to the mission home.


AT THE MISSION HOME FOR A BLESSED LAST TIME
My plane was to leave Roanoke for Washington DC at 11:30am where the next day I would hop on another plane at Dullus International and fly to California. I had made previous arrangements for someone to pick me up and give me a condensed tour of the Washington DC area. In order to do this, I made up the story to the mission home office Elders a month before saying that I wanted to go through the Washington DC temple before departing home and for them to create an itinerary for me to do this. Little did they know that my real goal was to only see the nation’s capitol while I am here at this end of the U.S. It felt good to know that I was able to scam them successfully and it proved to me again that the mission leadership had the inspiration and discernment of a fence post.

At the mission home, it was so nice to sit around knowing that I did not have to do any sort of missionary work or answer to anyone, not to the AP office elders, and best of all not to that pinhead insurance salesman mission president.

I found myself a nice La-Z-boy chair to sit in to pass the time until I had to leave for the airport. I found and began reading several magazines such as NewsWeek, Time, and National Geographic. I was 2 years behind on news events and it was refreshing to read something other than some damn shallow church publication. After a half hour of reading, six new elders had arrived from an earlier flight fresh from the MTC. They looked so depressed, sleep deprived, and downcast. They reminded me of how depressed I felt when I first showed up at this mission home 2 years earlier. Seeing them, I felt a wave wash over me of sickly sorrow and pity for them. But those pity feelings were washed away by the delightful tidal wave size rush of knowing I WAS LEAVING in JUST 30 MINUTES!! My hell hole was over but their hell holes were just beginning.

Those new elders saw me reading “unapproved” reading material and asked me why I was there by myself with no companion, I told them my mission ended today and I was going home. Hearing this, a few of them looked like they were going to breakdown on the spot judging from the glassy look of their eyes. Two of them looked at me with such jealousy it was palpable. I thought that if they could somehow know the depths of depression, loneliness, and hellish living that awaited them for the next two years; they would probably go into the restroom and slice each other’s wrists. To think that they would have to put up with President Moscon and his idiocy made me smile knowingly at them but I did not taunt them about going home. I had at least that much civility left in me after my two years of captivity.

I refused to have the customary last interview with the mission president because of the falling out that I had with him that I mentioned earlier. Nothing any one said to me would change my mind about talking one last time with that bastard. Any communication with him had been fatally terminated 5 months prior, and while there in the mission home, I did not even acknowledge his presence. His clueless wife, Loya, tried to order me to talk with her MP husband but looking up from my magazine, I gave her a look that would have shriveled a rock and went back to my reading. She huffed off and was probably thinking “how dare this lowly elder brush me off.” I didn’t care anymore because to me now, they were persons non-grata.


ONE LAST ROUND OF OFFICE ELDER ARROGANCE
Time was getting close for me to be at the Roanoke airport so I asked one of the office elders for my plane tickets. A family from my last area had come to drive me to the airport and see me off plus I no longer wanted to spend any more time in that mission home. Being there was serving no purpose and I would rather be elsewhere.

This office elder spouted off to me that only the mission president could give me the tickets and that I did not have his or the MP's permission to leave the mission home yet. Oh, so arrogant to the end, I thought. But I, being of large stature, pulled him aside into an empty hallway, and in a still small voice, told him that if he did not give me my plane tickets pronto, this would be his last day as a fully functional human being. I told him this as I was “helping” him tighten the knot of his tie. Needless to say, I got my tickets!

With my plane tickets in hand, I walked out of that mission home with my two bags and got into the car of the family that came to drive me to the airport. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as they drove me away from there. Reaching over to my nametag, I quietly slipped it into my coat pocket.

I was finally done being a missionary.


THE FLIGHT OUT OF THE VIRGINIA ROANOKE HELLHOLE
At the Roanoke airport, I said my goodbyes and gave hugs to the family that brought me there, and after they left, I checked in my bags and walked up to the gate boarding area. Once there, reality really hit me that I was finally alone to do as I please. It was such a thrill to be alone and not be watched over and after being tied to someone 24/7 for two years, it felt sooooooooo good to just be alone. I always cherished my alone-time and to have it stripped from me for 2 years proved very hard on me.

While I waited for the call to board the plane, I decided I should finish the purging of my Mormon missionary look and accoutrements so I collected together my nametag, the missionary white handbook, and a big packet of mission completion papers I was given at the mission home. Looking around and finding the nearest trash bin, I walked over to it and tossed it all in creating a big thud noise as it hit the bottom of the bin.

Watching that crap disappear into that bin created another wave of relief in me. I stood there by the bin for a few moments letting it sink in that I was finally done being a missionary. I realized I now had a first name again. I was now ‘Flash’ instead of ‘Elder Flash’. No more tell-tale nametag, no more white handbook of smothering rules, and no more of anything to remind me of being a missionary. The only “papers” I had left were my tickets.

I went into the men’s restroom and removed my suite coat, vest, and tie so no one around me would suspect me being a Mormon missionary and someone to be avoided. I was free now to sit next to anyone without making them feel uncomfortable. I found myself a seat and noticed that the people who I sat next to did not even care who I was or looked at me funny. I was just another fellow flyer. It was so liberating and refreshing to be a normal person again after 730 days and I quietly celebrated my new transformation by imbibing an “evil” can of Dr. Pepper.

About 45 minutes later, the call to board the plane was made. I boarded and found my window seat. With everyone boarded and the hatch shut, the plane began pulling away from the gate. It seemed like it took forever for that plane to taxi down the runway to get ready to take off. As it did so, I mumbled to myself, "Oh please let there be no mechanical problems." I could not bear the prospect of returning to the gate. I wanted so badly to be out of Virginia and as far away from Roanoke as I could get at that moment.

When the plane finally roared down the runway, lifted off, and its wheels no longer touched Virginia soil, I felt a feeling inside me like poison was draining out of my body. Two years of missionary poison that cankered my soul was draining away. The higher the plane went, the faster the poison drained. What relief it was being whisked away from that god-awful place. Oh, how I longed for this day to come. I felt like I was dreaming but I realized I was really on my way home! “Is it really true?”, I thought.

From my window seat, I looked down at the Virginia countryside and thought about how two precious years of my life were stolen and wasted there; Two whole years, where instead I could have been in college getting my electrical degree, enjoying time with Kathy, and just living happily. I thought about the missed Christmases, the missed birthdays, my brother’s wedding I missed, and the long separation from Kathy and her love. Sitting in that airplane trying to comprehend all my feelings of relief, joy, and happiness of knowing that I did not have to care about missionary work ever again was beyond words.

For a brief moment, I amused myself with the thought of some poor imaginary Elder below looking up at my plane as he endlessly tracted wishing with all his heart to be on my plane. I thought of how I was mocking him by staring out the window at him and knowing I was the one here and not him. I was free! Yes! Yes! Yes!


THE WASHINGTON DC MINI-TOUR
In less than an hour the plane landed at National (Ronald Reagan) airport in Washington DC. I found the person who I previously arranged to meet. My plane to California would leave Dullus International the next day so, according to our previous arrangements, he provided me a mini-tour by driving around the Washington mall area in his TR7 showing me the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, and the other mall monuments. He was very nice to me and treated me to fast food at McDonalds. We got along great and he said to me that he knew how I felt being released from the ‘mission prison system’ as he called it. He also was an RM and he said he could see the relief all over my face. He told me he understood how I was feeling inside. What he did not know is that I was also reveling in my joy of knowing that I was successful in pulling the wool over the office elder’s eyes to set up my itinerary to allow for this mini-tour while they thought I wanted to go through the Washington DC temple. I got the last laugh on them.

After the Washington Mall mini-tour, we got on the DC beltway to go to his place for the night. We approached the Washington DC temple and when I saw it, I felt nothing inside. It had no significance to me as it was just another symbol of an ungrateful church. I was asked if I wanted to see it up close but I politely said no. Puzzled by my reaction he passed by the exit and I did not give the place a second glance. Soon we arrived at his place. He gave me the use of one of the spare bedrooms of his luxury apartment. That night I had a nice long hot shower where I scrubbed off two years of missionary dirt and disgust. I soaped myself up several times just to watch the water rinse the disgust away over and over again. I must have stayed in there for an hour.

In bed, I laid there pondering over the day’s experiences. What a day, I thought. I woke up in a hot & humid, cockroach infested dump for the last time, brushed off my MP and his clueless wife, bodily threatened an office Elder for my plane tickets, transformed from Elder Flash to Mr. Flash, flew away from the hellhole known as the Virginia Roanoke mission, toured the Washington DC mall, and ended up in this nice place for the night.

It was so wonderful to have this day and night for myself after two years of no time off and no diversion. I no longer had any desire to say my nightly prayers anymore as they were never answered anyway so done were the useless companion and personal nightly prayers and done was the rigid schedule of sleep & wake up times. I felt so refreshingly free.

That night was the first night in two years that I had a radio sing me to sleep while an air conditioner hummed in the background keeping me cool & dry all night. Gone, was the nightly ritual to try and find sleep while in the relentless hot and humid air of Virginia.

Life was really looking up.


THE FLIGHT TO CALIFORNIA AND HOME
Early the next morning, I arose with great anticipation of being home at the end of the day. I dressed myself in “normal” clothes as I was not about to sit for 6+ hours dressed in a suite. I was driven to Dullus International to catch my flight to California. I thanked my friend/tour guide graciously at the curb, checked in my bags, found my gate, and sat down to wait for the boarding call. Again, it felt wonderful not wearing the nametag or the clothes that screams Mormon Missionary. No suite, no vest & tie, just comfortable clothes. Nobody called me "Elder" or avoided sitting next to me. I was just another traveler. About an hour later, I boarded my plane to California. It was a large TWA with relatively spacious economy class. Much better than the Piedmont Airlines I showed up on 2 years ago.

The plane taxied to the end of the runway, straightened out, and its four engines came to life. Faster & faster did we roll down the runway and near the end did the plane slowly lift off and began the 6+ hours journey west to California.

I gazed at the countryside passing underneath the plane for hours while music flooded my brain from the in-flight music selections of "The Bee Gees" to "Bread". Oh, how happy I was and how relieved I was to know I would be home by the end of the day! I made it a point to assure myself again that I was really there and not in some dream that would end with me waking up in Martinsville, Virginia to go out tracting again. (Shudder and Puke!!) I did convince myself that I was really there. Delicious thoughts of putting distance between me and Virginia at a rate of almost the speed of sound while at the same time getting closer to home at the same rate filled me with so much happiness. Could this plane go a little faster, I thought?

As part of the flight went over Utah, I looked down and briefly thought about that “Bad Boy’s Reform School nightmare” week I spent in the Salt Lake Mission Home two years previous and again briefly thought of those poor Elders back in Virginia just starting out. How was their 2nd day in the Virginia Hell hole? What dark thoughts do they now have about their “called of God” pinhead of an MP? A wave of pity for them occupied my mind for just 2 seconds but those thoughts were washed away for good with the happy thoughts of being home where I would be loved and wanted. Virginia seemed so far away now and of no importance and the relentless roar of the jet engines seemed to magnify that feeling.

For the 6+ hours it took to fly home, I simply decompressed by listening to music and watching two movies that, 48 hours previous, were considered “evil” thinking that life was good. The food on the flight tasted quite good probably because it was so much better than the crap I had been eating for so long as a missionary. I finished both meals completely plus 4 cans of Dr. Pepper and whatever cookies I could persuade the flight attendant to steal for me.


FINALLY HOME AGAIN
When I reached my home airport, my family was there to meet me. I cried seeing them and hugged them more than I ever had done before. It was the first time I ever cried because I was happy. Kathy was also there to meet me. Seeing her standing there did bring another rush of tears to my eyes. Was this real? Is it really her? How much more beautiful she was in person. At 21 now she was a very pretty woman. I rushed over to her and gave her a very very long hug and a deep kiss. I kissed off (pun intended) the stupid saying that I was still a missionary until being released by the Stake President. I was threw being a missionary the moment I left that goddamn mission home and nothing was going to keep me from Kathy any longer. The hugs and kiss I received from Kathy, after missing her for two miserable lonely years, poured peace into my soul in such a way that I cannot find adequate words to do justice in describing how I felt. Only those who have gone through this can understand what I am talking about. The English language is just too inadequate to paint a proper frame of reference for someone who has not gone through the trauma of a Mormon mission and returned.

No event in my life has ever produced such an intensity of relief and happiness as the day I came home from my mission. For those who had the courage to not succumb to the pressures to serve a mission; coming home was not like coming back from college or summer camp. It was like coming back from the dead.

Oh my God, flash, you have captured my feelings exactly. Very, very well said. Return from the dead, indeed.

The day before was a 16 hour drive from the far reaches of the mission. They were closing down our area -- a couple of weeks after getting our first converts. Hi, welcome to the church. Goodbye. So a lot of the trip was us fuming about leaving the new members high and dry, a hundred miles from the nearest other members. Inspired leaders? Yeah, sure.

But they'd called us to HQ four days before my 2-year anniversary. I figured they'd have us hanging around, but the MP was going off to some big meeting, so we were going home early. Yay, small miracles.

By this time I was totally disillusioned with the church, but couldn't decide if *it* was the problem or me. I was just glad the mission was over.

The next morning the MP gave a perfunctory departing interview and sent us on our way. Yeah, well, thanks for nothing, asshole.

On the flight home, the plane hit a severe air pocket as we were low over some mountains, and for an instant I thought I was going to die before ever having sex.

I got off the plane in SLC and only my mother was there to meet me. Dad was a sealer and had a session to do. Yeah, family first.

Great story...

I slept in my suitcase the last month...I was so glad to be home. I hated my mission - biggest waste of time and money ever spent.

No, I won't ask it. It's just too obvious.

Really great story. I'm so glad I never went on one. I probably would have if they let women go at 18 years old. I thought it was ridiculous they'd expect a woman to interrupt her life at age 21 for 18 months to do something a man can do immediately out of high school before he's invested in college, or adult relationships. I sincerely felt it was a way to discourage women from going without being directly discriminatory. So I didn't go.

Each day of my last week in the mission, I threw out one white shirt so the last day I was left with only one to wear home.

I tried to pay an $80 phone bill in advance to the office start but they told me they would send me the bill and have me pay later.

I received the bill about a month later... it was for $80 (canadian). I happened to have $40 canadian cash so I dropped that along with a $40 money order in the mail.

A few weeks later, I received a nasty letter from the office saying that I had only paid $40 and they wanted the rest and I was robbing the Lord ...

I ignored them.

I refused to report to the high council.

I refused to go on the rounds of giving talks with a high councilman.

About 15 years later, I had my first beer.

This sums up how I felt the last day of my mission;

"I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain."

Red- Shawshank Redemption
Morgan Freeman

The second to last day of my mission I was able to see a neo Nazi rally in Germany. Insane does not begin to describe it. It was a horrible day. I was going home because I was sick. The other missionaries were kind of supportive but mostly I was looked at as an enigma. How could a 19 year old who was serving the lord be so sick and not get better? Well, because I didn't have enough faith. That's why. And my mission president made sure I understood that while they made arrangements for me to go home.
My mission president couldnt be bothered to send me off. Instead he called me on the phone at the airport to tell me what a dissappointment I was and to not listen to Satan when I got home.
The 14+ hour plane ride home was excruciating. I looked like death, pale, 115 pounds and suicidally depressed.
The stewardesses came by only to make sure I was still alive and no one sat next to me on the plane. They switched to empty seats.
I was going home to family but completely and utterly alone.

If god existed, I would spend my life looking for a way to kill him because of my mission.

The second to last day, we were tracting, and knocked on a door. Some kids were playing soccer in the street, and one of them said "The lady who lives there is dead." I asked, tongue in cheek, "Well does she still live here?" to which he replied "Um, I think so."

My died dad so I went home early. What a "blessing" for spending two years on a mission.

You've missed out on a lot of fun. I love riding a bike through mountain valleys to see the spring flowers or the fall foliage, to feel the summer sun or to feel refreshed in winter before going back to a heated house;

And you would probably live longer and healthier.

Honestly, I think the last day of mission, or maybe the first day OFF my mission felt like the best day of my life! Having to be a salesman 24/7 for TWO YEARS of something you weren't even sure you believed in was the worst experience possible.

So glad I am done with it.

It's kind of funny because sometimes I stop and think about the day leaving my mission and I get super warm fuzzies. And when I am having a bad day or depressed, I just think well at least I'm not knocking on doors anymore.

The imprisonment of a mission can make one hate perfectly nice places.

You're very right. I served in Ireland, a magical place of wonder, mystery, and beauty. And I want to vomit any time I think of it.

I loved reading your account of your last day - brought back some of the euphoria I felt that day. My MP was a used car salesmen and he ran the mission just the way you'd think.
I remember the incredible relief I felt to be done with it all and have my life back. If nothing else, I'm glad I served a mission because it opened my eyes to what the church really is- even though I clung desperately to my "testimony" for a few years after.

Same here. I got a peek at the man behind the curtain. So thanks for that.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 11/05/2010 09:14AM by Stray Mutt.

Great story!

However, I have to defend my homeland. I spent 4 miserable years at Ft Ord, CA, which was located in Monterey, Ca. I hated everything about the Monterey Bay area and vowed to never see it again! Years later I visited, and found it to be one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen! My point is Monterey was always great,... just the experiences I had there sucked. Give Virginia another chance. Without the bicycle, suit, quad, MP, annoying companion, and garmies, you might actually enjoy it!

My Dad also served in Germany and my family lived there for a bit more than a year when I was 3-4 years old.

...on the last day of my mission (New England Mission, 1971-73), but I do remember I felt nothing but happiness when I had just one week left to go.

I would say that 99% of all missionaries felt the same way, and acknowledged to each other that they were counting the days until they could return home.

It is only for public consumption that missionaries tend to make comments about how much they love their missions, and how sad they are to leave.

...as i essentially "lost my religion" on my plane trip home vowing never again to be a part of this sham religion.

Even remember the dirty looks from the High Priests quorum when i told them i wasn't interested in doing the "Stake speaking tour" with any of them as an RM because i could no longer tell lies for Moronism.

You and i both went through the SL Mission Home and if i had to do it all over again i would stand up to that Grade-A SOB Mission Home President Bird during one of his arrogant condescending "come-to-jeesus" talks about how all of us greenie Elders were just one step above pond scum and i have had dreams about doing this.

I would have stood up in one of those big gatherings where you could hear a pin drop and walked to the center of the floor as there was quite a space between the pulpit and the first row of chairs and obviously would have garnered immediate attention and then turned to the pulpit and essentially said something like..."you mean-spirited old fossil of a man...i am here volunteering my time and talents and my parents hard-earned $$$ and you have the audacity to stand up there behind that pulpit and talk to me like this you SOB???!!! (and i've always pictured that security would come and tackle me and drag me out but ohhhhh what a way to go out with a bang and save my self from 2-years of the worst experience of my one-and-only-life of lying to good and decent people for 2-whole-years trying to sell the fraud of Moronism to them!)

Hope your life and your plans have worked out the way you wanted them to...especially with Kathy.

All the best and thanks again for sharing your personal story of recapturing your freedom with all of us who have "been there Dunn that!

Or so it seems to me...

On my last full day in Germany, I went tracking in the Olympic Village appts in Munich with my LTM companion. He wanted to be able to say he worked up to his last day. So, off we sent to do some tracking. Ugh!! We hit a few doors and got the standard responses. We knocked on what turned out to be our last door, which was opened by an very old German lady. For two years I had heard "I am Catholic and and too old to change". Well at this door, when the old lady said this, my comp looked at her and said "Yes, you are probably right". He leaned out, took ahold of the door handle and pulled it closed, with the old lady just staring at us. He then turned to me and said "We're done. Let's go." I still laugh to this day. I also declined the speaking circuit upon my return. Not interested, thank you.

Interesting subject: I loved being away from home. Before the mission call I went to Basic Training, Ft. Campbell KY, and came home 2 months later after training at Ft. Sill OK.
I enjoyed it all. Being away from home in a structured environment I found really nice.
I lost all interest (doctrinally) in the Church as a teenager. But growing up in the "culture" in Salt Lake it was just the place to hang out with friends. All of them left, so I sent in my papers. Scotland 71/73. Had a sensational time. A number of fabulous companions, the work sucked, the mission was in complete disarray and I knew my way around the block. MP changed after 7 months and it take me no time to strike up a friendship. Shortly after he called me into the Mission Home as the Accountant and Staff Leader. Simply the most powerful and influential job an Elder could have. Had a ball. Never worked a minute after the office closed. 4 of us would walk down to Edinburgh, goof off for 3 hours and walk home to go to bed. My last 6 months I had a car as a ZL and spent ALL my time managing Elders. In a nice way. Trying to keep them grounded and getting along.
The last 3 months of that venture as a ZL I was in Dunfirmline with a district comprised of 11 Sister missionaries. Can you imagine the attention they needed? Very interesting.
I prefaced the last day because I was having the time of my life. I dreaded going home. Probably the last thing on earth I wanted to do. Got up in the morning, hugged all the sisters good by, and drove the the Mission Home. Spent the day goofing off with the MP and the staff, (4 former companions) and got ready for the evening flight. The staff and MP before you get in the van make a circle around the leaving Elders and sing (sp) Auld Lang Syne. It's a nice farewell. MP drove me to the elderly Mission Home Cooks place to say good by to her. She went through hundred of missionaries over the years and I was the only one she ever let cook in her kitchen. I fixed waffles for the staff one night for dinner.
MP picked me up from her place an hour later and drove me to the airport. Simply the worst walk to that plane I ever took in my life. I found "my" mission was taking care of the Elders. Then I came home to my dysfunctional family. Shit.
Move ahead 30 years. My company sent me to Massachusetts to help open a new retail outlet. It was to be a 4 weeks assignment. I've been here 9 years, got married, live on Cape Cod and couldn't be happier. Nothing like 2500 miles between me the lunatics. But I do miss my kids.
HWB

Molarky, no I did not get to marry Kathy. After being back for about four months, Kathy drifted away from me toward someone else and ironically, it was a non-member. It was a very bitter loss to me as I loved her more than I could ever express. For those two years, she was all I thought about, dreamed about, and was the only anchor that kept me tethered to the world of the living as I was seriously contemplating suicide as a way to end the depression & misery of being a missionary. I can only speculate that I loved her more than she loved me and maybe being away for two years was just too long for the relationship to withstand the changes in each of us. I will never know but it became evident to me that I was gone too long and it was everlastingly too late to make up two years of lost time. She was a very beautiful Japanese girl and one of a kind. I am now happily married to a Malaysian woman who is also one of a kind.

Zeno Lorea, I do waterskiing for my recreation so I don’t become a couch potato. Having to use a bicycle for those two years instilled such a hate in me for using a bike that I cannot get on one anymore. I appreciate your comments, though, and I will work on overcoming this irrational hate of bikes.

Jon1 & Stray Mutt, No doubt that Virginia is a very pretty place especially at this time of year. My wife and I have been there twice and I brought her there both times in the fall so she could see all the colors. It is true that a very nice place can be ruined by your experiences there. I will tell you that when we were there, we did visit, out of morbid curiosity, a few places where I was as a missionary. At those places, I could feel those familiar feelings of dread and depression start to try and come back. But I did not let them get very far because I then began to feel, as Ex-Cultmember said, a warm fuzzy feeling of knowing that I did not have to go and start knocking on doors again. With my wife at my side, those ghosts were slain permanently. I did enjoy my visit there without the bicycle, suit, quad, MP, annoying companion, and garmies.

I no longer remember all that much about my last day. It's been over 40 years. But I do know that it felt much like what yours felt like. Thanks for putting it into words.

I do remember wandering around Rio by myself the last day, unauthorized, and, then getting chewed out for doing so.

It took me 5 more years to ditch the idiocy of Mormonism. I wish I had done it in the middle of my mission. I was glad to have learned Portuguese, and learned about Brazil, but after a year, I was more than ready to go, on so many levels.

Great story, Flash. Great thread, too!

I posted this on my blog a few years back:
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I woke up early that Monday. Well let's be honest, we always got up early, but if I'm not mistaken, that day it was earlier than usual. It was the last day I was going to be a missionary and I wanted to catch the first bus out of town. I was serving in Gutierrez Zamora, Veracruz in Mexico. The Mission Office was located in the city of Veracruz. That was about two and half maybe three hours south, straight down the coast. I was hoping to catch the earliest bus so I would have the whole day in the city.

My mission took place at a time when missions were 18 months long. That would have been great except for the fact that right as I hit the halfway point, the church said, "My bad!" and decided to make them two years again. The good thing about it was we were given a choice on how long we wanted to serve. I could keep my original call or extend one to six more months if I wanted. Some missionaries didn't seem to think about it at all. They just immediately extended. More is always better right?

It wasn't that easy for me. Personally, I wanted to do what was "right" but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what that was. I prayed and prayed and prayed for an answer as to what God wanted me to do, but I got nothing for the longest time. After about a month of agony, I finally got my answer: stick with your original calling. This was great for me because I figured that if I changed my mind, I could always extend. However, I was pretty sure that if I extended then and decided I wanted to shorten it, I might get some grief. Would it surprise you to know that a lot of missionaries didn't believe me when I told them I had prayed to know what to do and was told to stick to 18 months? Yeah, I didn't think so.

But it was all over now and I was looking for a bus to take to the mission HQ. If I had really planned it, I would have taken the good bus line called ADO. When I say 'good' what I mean is you got an assigned seat. The other buses were more like school buses. We called them 'guajoloteros' which referred to the fact that they often included turkeys, chickens and other animals along with the people. A guajolote is the word most Mexicans use for Turkey. The Spanish word is 'pavo' but guajolote is Náhautl in origin. Its literal translation is big monster. I don't know how it evolved to mean turkey.

Besides the livestock, they liked to cram as many people as humanly possible onto these kind of buses. That meant you could end up standing for part or all of the journey. This was not a big deal if it was a short distance, but if you were traveling for a few hours, it was a major pain.

By the time I tried to get an ADO ticket, they were already sold out for that day. There was only one that went to Veracruz, so I knew I'd end up on a guajolotero. That was o.k. I had ridden on them before and it was going to be the last time. We lived about a mile from the bus station. I had two suitcases, plus a carry on so our landlord offered to drive us there. He was a good guy. He wasn't Mormon and we never once tried to teach him about the church. They had rented to the missionaries for years and I always assumed that if he wanted to hear anything, he would ask. I probably wasn't the world's greatest missionary.

As we got to the station, our landlord ejected the tape playing in the truck's stereo and gave it to me. A couple of months before, he had driven us to a zone conference in Poza Rica so we didn't have to spend money on the bus. On that trip, he had played the same tape during the drive. It was a Mexican band called El Grupo Audaz and I had mentioned how much I liked the music. He handed me the cassette and said, "So you don't forget your family here in Mexico." I was touched. He then hugged me goodbye and wished me a good journey.

My companion, my replacement and I all hopped out of the truck and took my stuff into the station waiting area. A couple of minutes later, two ward members came by to see me off. I was surprised because it was pretty early in the morning and they were both home on a break from school. I figured they would want to sleep. The church owned a private high school in Mexico City called Benemérito de las Américas. At one time, the church owned a lot of private schools down there, but they were beginning to divest themselves of those and this was one of the last, and biggest, ones around.

The bus finally came and to my horror, I couldn't get on. It was so packed full of people that I had to wait for the next one. I was pissed. I really wanted to get to Veracruz. My main mission was to purchase something for my grandmother. What I wanted to get her was a doll from Mexico. She was a collector and I happened to know that there was a store that specialized in dolls clothed in traditional Mexican dress right in the town of Veracruz. I knew because the mission president's wife, who was also a collector, told me about it.

So I waited. The next bus came about 30 minutes later. When I went to get on, the conductor informed us all that this bus would be traveling the long way to Veracruz: through the sierra region. This was going to take eight hours instead of three. Combine that with the fact that I was probably going to have to stand the whole way, I passed again. I had already loaded my bags on so I had to get them back off the bus.

Now I was very upset and totally stressed. I was looking at another hour to wait for the next bus. I was worried. What if I couldn't get to Veracruz today? Would I still be able to go home or would I have wait another month?

The bus finally came and the crowd to get on seemed just as big as last time. Someone decided to open the back door of the bus so I climbed in that way. My companion and friends handed me my bags which I had to place in the cargo area in the back. It made me nervous to be so far away from them. I wanted them in the luggage rack next to where I was, but there was simply no room. Of course I had to stand, but at least I was on the bus. I was only about two hours behind schedule. I looked down at my feet and there were two chickens in a little cage right up against my legs. I finally lightened up enough to laugh. This wasn't the first time I had a chicken with me on a bus, but it would probably be the last.

Riding on a bus standing up in Mexico is a very intimate experience but not in a good way. As we traveled down the coast, more people were getting off than on which meant that I might get to sit after all. As the crowd thinned, I noticed two cute 20-something women smiling at me. I nodded hello to them and they grinned even wider.

"Would you like to sit down?" one of them cooed.

"Thanks, but then you'd have to stand" I said.

"You could sit on our laps."

I knew then that Satan was making a last ditch effort to make me crash and burn before I was honorably released. The wily devil!

"No thanks" I said, smiling, but inwardly I was terrified. Luckily, it didn't take much longer before a seat opened up. Unluckily, it was in the aisle across from the ladies. Satan was having his way today! They started talking to me again. As it turned out, they were in fact just being nice and weren't trying to take my chastity. They just felt sorry for me having to stand all the way there. Plus, I must have looked pathetic. I was about 30 or so pounds underweight. Between all the walking and pretty much constant diarrhea, my 5'11" frame had gone from 165 pounds to about 130 pounds over the course of the mission. When I realized they weren't Jezebels sent to seduce me from the dark lord himself, I relaxed. I even gave them a mini lesson about the church right there on the bus.

Soon we arrived in Veracruz and I was able to get a cab to the mission office. The mission president had chosen this week to host a special conference so all the zone leaders from the entire mission were present for meetings. In those days, our mission encompassed four states: Veracruz, Oaxaca, Puebla and Tlaxcala. There were quite a few of my good friends already in Veracruz. The mission president allowed me and one of my closest missionary buddies, we had been in the MTC together and served most of our missions in the same zones, to spend the whole day together as the meetings hadn't officially started yet. Monday was our P-day and that was a travel day.

My mission president was a really good guy. Very down to earth and not at all like some of the horror stories I have heard about other MPs. He had a very friendly smile and looked almost exactly like the British comedian, Benny Hill. It was sometimes hard not to imagine Benny Hill when he was standing in front of us all and talking. He was great, but that didn't mean he was a pushover either. He just trusted us to behave like adults.

He called me into his office and handed me the address of the store with the collectible dolls. My grandmother collected them and even though he was a busy guy, he remembered my request for a local shop that sold such things from about two months before. It turned out that his wife collected them too. He gave me exact directions on how to get there and which bus would be the best to take.

My buddy and I went out and made the purchase and then had a leisurely lunch at an outdoor cafe across from the Gulf of Mexico. He was also near the end of his mission, but he had another month to go. We made plans to go out to BYU together, but mostly we just reminisced about the times we had spent together in the mission field. It was a great day.

That night, we were all assigned to the different companionships who regularly worked in Veracruz. Most of them were office elders who worked in the headquarters during the day, but still did missionary work in the evening. I don't remember much except that I was more than done with it all. I tried to rally my missionary spirit and just get into it, but I'm not sure I did very well. Finally, we went back to the mission home and called it a night.

The mission office used to be one of the private schools I mentioned before. The church still owned the building so they converted it over to the office. They even had dorms attached which was were I and the other visiting missionaries stayed for the night. It was a lot like the MTC again, but in a good way. I spent most of my mission in small towns away from other missionaries so I rarely got to have the camaraderie that missionaries in larger areas have. I was usually at least an hour away from any other missionaries. So it was fun for me to hang with other guys and joke around. There were five of us heading home the next day and we were all invited to eat dinner with the mission president and his wife.

I had my final interview with the mission president that night. I don't remember much about it except that he didn't pressure me to get married. He did mention that marriage was my next 'mission' but he urged me to get some education and take my time to make a good choice. I wasn't particularly close to him, but I did like him. I've only seen him a couple of times since my return home. I always sort of hoped he would be made a general authority, but I think he's too normal for that.

I was up and out the very next morning. I jokingly said that I hoped there wouldn't be chickens on the airplane, but of course there weren't.

Great stories. Thanks for sharing!

Probably the happiest day of my life as well. I remember riding to the airport (S.Korea) with the rest of the guys from my MTC group, and feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted from me. It was all the more special since my last companion was also the worst of my mission and knowing I would never have to see him again was fantastic. To no longer have to keep statistics, hassle people with religious nonsense, live with rediculous rules etc. the sense of freedom was overwhelming.

When we got to Seattle, the point at which all of us would separate for our flights to our respective homes, I was so disallusioned with the whole experience that I didn't bother saying goodbye to anyone in the group and just went straight to my gate. I just couldn't wait to distance myself from the whole thing. (Plus some of the guys were total assholes) Anyway, I still celebrate the day I got home with some beers and a cigar.

The last paragraph in particular is very moving.

Your story was very well written.

It brought back a day long ago. I really wanted to work in a particular location, but had to do an internship to get the okay to go there.

17 months of very little fun. The guy in charge eviscerated me on a weekly basis.

We drove out of there and did a high five. We got through it. We learned many valuable lessons, and we are thankful for the friends we made there. But, the release of pressure was massive and exhilarating.

I felt that again reading your story. We're free, and he can't call me into his office ever again.