After her 12-year-old son died, author Anna Whiston-Donaldson discovered a small but potent shelf of books whose wisdom and shared experience helped her heal.
I am a reader. Right after my 12-year-old son died, however, I doubted I would ever read again. It was too difficult. My newspapers sat untouched on the kitchen table, and the idea of reading a novel repulsed me, as it seemed frivolous compared to the life and death matters...
