I didn’t cry when we got home from the airport. As a matter of fact, my son’s plane hadn’t been off the ground more than 30 minutes before I opened that paint can to paint his bedroom purple for his little sister. However, with each of my missionaries I had a nightly routine. I’m always the last one in bed. Before turning in, I would look out the sliding glass door at the stars in the sky and say goodnight to my wandering angel of a child. Often, that goodnight was said through tears. The tears came from missing my child, but also a sense of pride in knowing my child had grown into the adult we had always wanted him/her to be.