Posted by:
flash
(
)
Date: November 04, 2010 07:15PM
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.