Before my son Will could hear me, I was already writing to him.
I’ve been writing letters to my son Will since before he was born and they haven’t stopped. Observations, lessons, fears, love, lists, the small daily evidence of a life lived before and now, alongside his.
It began as something just for him. I’ve come to realize it’s for all of us — even me.
The letters arrive as life presents itself. A journal of sorts — but also a library, a soundtrack, an archive. If my life is a metaphor for anything, and I believe it is, then this is the harvest. A lifetime of love.
Copyright 2026 Wayne Rainey