I can’t believe you’re already graduating from college. How did four years pass at Lightspeed? Has it felt slower for you? I hope you’ve been able to savor this precious stage of your life.

You’ve blossomed these past four years into a magnificent young man. You don’t need much advice from me. But, it’s the season for commencement speeches, and I’m a writer and your mom, so here goes: 12 things to think about as you embark on your next big adventure.

Eight years ago, on what probably began as a perfectly ordinary day, you learned your bone marrow matched the marrow of a 14-year-old boy, a sweet, funny, strong lad with a laser-bright smile. Due to a rare disease, at the time, he was way too skinny and the wrong shade of pale.

“Janet,” I said, “if you have a way of coming back after you’ve gone, you have to send me a sign so I know it’s you. You could do something with my knitting!” 

When I was nine years old and growing up in Dunedin, New Zealand, an international pen pal program connected me with a fellow nine-year-old in Chicago named Lisa. We sent each other photos, capturing our goofy grins when we lost teeth in the 70s and my oversized glasses and her oversized hair in the 80s. Eventually, in our early teens, Lisa and I lost touch.

I’ve been thinking about epiphanies. You know, that sudden flash of inspiration, insight, or understanding that smacks you upside the head and makes you think, Duh, that’s so obvious. How did I not see this before?

A three-year-old might find this cacophony funny. I do not.

You know the belief that women are biologically programmed to forget the pain of childbirth so they’ll reproduce again? I think the same rule applies to mammograms. Thanks to this week’s appointment, the memories all came rushing back.

If men had to have their testicles manipulated by a stranger before being squeezed mercilessly between two freezing metal plates, they simply wouldn’t. Ever.