Thoughts and experiences of a grieving mother.
Letters to my son Joah. I write them, he doesn’t read them. At least, that’s what I assume or in heaven something must have been invented for illiteracy in babies. Perhaps Jesus reads them as a bedtime story, although I can imagine something more exciting than the thoughts and experiences of a grieving mother. I’m publishing them every second Friday of the month, because it might be of some use to you or someone around you.