As the flight finished taxiing to the gate, and the fasten seat belt lights darkened, the missionaries in front of us began to move about and collect their luggage from the overhead compartments. One particularly-young looking male (there were two sister missionaries among the males) glanced in turn at his companions and said softly, "Two years." Another echoed, "Two years." Another, more quietly, "Two years." Each, in turn, responded.
I believe I would have cried at that point.
One of the hardest things for me to deal with, as a nonbeliever, was watching my nephews go on missions. There was so much I wanted to say, but couldn't. I didn't want to say things that would make them stop believing, or doubt - I wanted to say things that maybe could help them put some of the potential pain and angst of the experience into perspective... things like "don't take your leaders seriously". But, of course, as an "apostate", I'm not allowed to say much of anything about it at all.