June has so far been a month of unexpected and utterly amazing graduations.

Last weekend my son was married; a beautiful, relaxed and sunny wedding north of Boston, their dearest friends and family surrounding them on a bluff that hung over a salty estuary dotted with lobster boats. There were serious tears from our first row, waterworks of happiness, love and gratitude. We gained a wonderful daughter and sister that day. He is my married son. When they slid the rings on and said ” I do” my status — in an instant — changed to “mother of two married children.”

I now will take any and all suggestions on how to be a good mother-in-law.

That same weekend I received an email that I had won the Anne Dillard Creative Non Fiction award at the Bellingham Review with my essay “The Language of Flowers.” A piece I submitted last February when the sleet and snow were pelting the windows on Bainbridge Island, about planting a garden while my mother was dying. Utterly surprised, utterly honored, I have now graduated to ‘award-winning writer.”

Mic drop.

I took graduations with a grain of salt in my early years: I didn’t even attend my college graduation despite being notified of several distinctions. I was too busy getting on a plane to hike the Inner Hebrides of Scotland with my mother. And there was too much champagne at the pre-game for my Masters graduation that admittedly the day is a bit of a blur and the photos too. Both were rites of passage I expected when the educations ended. I never gave them much thought again.

But marrying a son, well, we all hope it will happen but did we know that it will rearrange our hearts — tear out little bits and at the same time fill us with happiness until our chests feel twice bigger? That we will be forever changed by both loss and love? In a good way. Growth, in one day, that has changed me.

Writers, we just keep submitting, keep writing, keep waiting for the right reader to be changed by our words and inch us further out into the world. In my case, a published and extraordinary Native writer, Sasha LaPointe, chose me. My heart is so big right right now I could burst.

I will let the newlyweds share their photos of the excellent day. And until notified how and where Bellingham Review will publish my piece they own the rights for a little while. So it’s only Tuesday — two days since this special weekend — and I have a sore arm from tossing my mortar board in the air.

These graduations will stay with me for my lifetime. May I honor their lessons well.

Until then, you get me as a sign-off; the Matron, complete with some false eyelashes that also, may I note, was it’s own noted and enjoyable graduation experience.