By the time we snap her boxes shut, we’ll have it all in there: twin XL sheets, shower caddy, extra chargers.

And Narcan.

I’d be lying if I said that last one didn’t stop me cold.

My daughter is leaving for college in a couple of weeks. She’s a careful, cautious kid. A conservatory-bound graduate who won’t even touch caffeine before a performance.

But this isn’t about her. It’s about the roommate. The classmate. A stranger at a party. Isn’t it always someone else’s kid?

As I put Narcan in the cart — one hand over my heart and the other over the womb that brought her into this world — the mother in me was between weeping and vomiting. The realist in me knew better. Because in 2025, packing an overdose-reversal spray for college is, or should be, a new kind of parental instinct.

I pack

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