Last time it about ripped my heart out. This time it was much easier.
First time: They descended on the car like locusts, grabbed the suitcase and the missionary. "No, we can't take a picture for you," they said, and were gone practically before we knew what happened. Watching my boy walking away, I try to take a final picture and accidentally press the camera off button just as he disappears into the crowd. I get in the car and start sobbing.
Second time: A single missionary host came to our car. We got the suitcases out, hugged, and the missionary host asks, "Would you like me to take a picture?" He takes one, lets us check it and offers to take another one if it's not any good.
We stand awkwardly around, waiting for him to whisk our missionary off, but he seems content to just let us stand there all day if necessary. We hug again, and then say, "Well...guess this is it." I might have hugged my missionary one last time. Then the host missionary and our Elder amble off, and I have plenty of time to get a couple walking away shots. Get in the car, have the sobbing feeling bubble up, but can't even squeeze a tear out before it calms down and I'm overcome with gratefulness for missionary boys.
Discussing it later, Craig and I decided that the way the drop offs went may have had a lot to do with the feelings we think our missionaries themselves were probably having before they left. When Missionary #1 left the missionary age was still 19. He was one of the oldest in his class and the first of his friends to leave. The rest of the friends were off to start college (for a semester or a full year before leaving on their missions) and we felt he struggled with the idea of leaving when everyone else was still "moving on" with regular life.
Missionary #2 left the first summer after President Monson's announcement that missionaries could start serving at age 18 after they had graduated. Not only was he NOT the first of his friends to leave (one left the Wednesday after graduation), but most of his friends would be leaving within a month or two. Going on a mission was what they were ALL doing right then, so it was normal to him to go.
Regardless of the beginning feelings, Missionary #1 has had an awesome mission. He'll come home in less than a month, and will jump right into regular life. He says about his missionary service, "I've really loved being a missionary, and it has been something that has changed my life. I'm very grateful for this, every young man needs a mission. My testimony has grown. My confidence has grown. I've learned how to do things. I've learned what is most important in life. I've learned how to deal a lot more with conflicts. I will be sad when I have to come home."
We know Missionary #2 will feel the same. There's just something about a mission that makes men out of these boys. While there have been more times than I can count that I have said "I miss that boy!", I wouldn't really want them anywhere else but serving the Lord these two years. What a blessing to their lives, to our family, and to those they serve so far away.
Adios, Elder! See you in two! Love you bunches!