A son in the MTC

It's "the day after." I drove by the MTC on my way to a meeting, and the emotions were strong. My son is in there! He's somewhere in one of the buildings, in a class or a meeting or an activity of some kind. I wish I could see him, or talk with him. I hope he's doing well.

I loved my time in the MTC, and being there for a few minutes with Matt brought back lots of sweet memories and emotions. I hope and pray it will be a wonderful, positive time for him as well.

It was so very bittersweet to drop Matt off at the MTC yesterday, as I'm sure is usually the case for most parents. We have looked forward to this day since he was a child ("I hope they call me on a mission..."). At times, we have wished the day would come sooner; at others, we've wanted to postpone the day and prepare more. But when it's really here, there are way too many emotions crowding together:

• Of course, one of the greatest emotions is the joy of having a son who is worthy and desirous to be there. There is not a place we'd rather have him be today, not an activity we'd rather have him engaged in. We know he was called by God and will be greatly blessed by this mission, and will be able to bless and serve as "an instrument in the hands of God" as he does his best. That brings us great joy.
  
  
• There is sadness in the realization that a phase of our lives has now ended. Sarah is already very independent and not likely to return home; and now, even if Matt comes home for a season after his mission, he will be much more grown up and independent (we assume!). We are basically done raising our children, and will never return to that time in the same way.
  
  
• I think I am a little surprised at the emptiness I feel in many ways — or is it loneliness? For 19 years, and maybe especially for the last year, we have been so involved in Matt's life. We've been conscious and aware of almost every step and activity; we've tried to help and guide and direct. But now, nothing. Not only do we have no involvement and influence, we don't even have awareness of what he's doing or thinking or feeling! It's such a strange difference, to go from one extreme to the other so abruptly. All we can do is hope and pray and wait.
  
  
• There is concern in my heart about the challenges and stress ahead for Matt. These next two months will be difficult for him in many ways; making the adjustment from his "former life" to the new regimen (both in schedule and focus), going through the challenges of learning Spanish, missing his friends (and maybe his family), and so on. We'll be praying as never before for the help he will so desperately need!
  

I have learned much from Matt, and with Matt, during the past 19 years. During this final year I've had to accept that he would not prepare for his mission the way I wish he would; his personality and approach to life are just too different from mine. That was hard for me; I wanted so much to help him but found I wasn't able to, not very much. I couldn't make him into a copy of myself. I had to work with him the way he was.

We've had some wonderful experiences together. We've gone hiking and camping. We rode bikes on remote trails. We've played golf and racquetball. I've bought him music he liked and helped him on the computer. He's helped me in the yard, mowed the lawn, cleaned the cars. When he wanted to get into body building, we joined the gym together and worked with a trainer. There are many sweet memories.

I've tried to tell missionary stories and have gospel conversations whenever we could. We've prayed together. I gave him Priesthood blessings and ordained him an Elder. We home taught together and taught lessons in a fireside and in his elders quorum. We've gone to the temple. Finally, I was privileged to set him apart as a missionary.

I miss my son, my only son. God bless you, my friend.