Memoir of a reunion

Today marks the one-year anniversary of Joseph coming home from his mission. Since I never wrote on this lil blog about that day specifically (this post was as close as I got), I thought I'd share a brief memoir.


On June 26, 2013, I woke up feeling a little excited and a lot nervous. Despite planning ahead a couple weeks, I had no guarantee that any of my coworkers could take my shift so that I could meet the Facers in time to head to the airport. I also had no guarantee that my head and my heart both wanted me to head to the airport, so my poor, torn self was almost (ALMOST) grateful for the excuse to stay in Provo.

I wanted to see him, but I didn't know if I wanted to marry him. I did know that he wanted to marry me. This caused stress.

I worked very absent-mindedly for half of my morning shift, until with approximately two minutes to spare, my lovely coworker walked in the door to cover for me. I bolted outta there and sped to the Facers, arriving just in time to leave for the airport. What a relief?

I remember very little about anything else until the moment when we saw him walking right at us. And all I really remember about that very first moment of seeing him, in person, for the first time in two years, is that I couldn't not smile about it. 

He let me know far in advance that he had promised himself that he would abide by his mission rules until his actual release, which meant I would not get any airport hug. What he did not let me know was that I would also get very limited amounts of airport eye contact. I thought I was the one feeling nervous, but I suppose he had a right to feel nervous as well. This was about as close as I got to him for nearly all our airport time:

But I assure you I was trying to get closer.

Anyway, we can probably fast forward through the car ride to Aunt Betsy's (where we sat far apart, of course) and even through the awkward reunions which happened at the beginning of the celebratory picnic. These chunks of time were filled with catching up on both ends. He told stories, we told stories, back and forth.

The most significant part of that day for me was when he had finally been released from his calling as a missionary and could finally allow himself to acknowledge me. I was just eating a sandwich and talking to Grandma, and suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder that could not have belonged to anyone else. 

And that hand is the best thing my shoulder has ever felt, before or since that day. It was, surprisingly, a better moment than the hug which followed immediately after. The hug was public: his whole family was watching by that point. But the hand on the shoulder--that was one of those magical instances where you don't see the significance coming. It was quiet and soft and firm and screaming, all at once, and it mattered. That darn hug I had dreamed about for two years paled severely in comparison to the first touch I had never even imagined.

Things mostly turned normal after that. We ate, we took pictures, we bought him an iPhone (veeery important, you know), and we chillaxed with the fam. I do believe he brought up the marriage question that day? The next day? So my nervousness was very warranted, people!

But the rest of that is probably a story for another time. 


I lovelovelove this Joseph boy. I am thankful every day for the mission he served, the experiences he had, the lessons he learned, and the man he became because of all that. I am also thankful for the equivalent experiences, lessons, etc. that I went through while he was gone. As wonderful as it was to reunite, I don't think either of us would ever trade those "best two years" for anything. 

It just might be true that absence makes the heart grow fonder...but let's not test it again, k babe?

K.