Monday, February 15:
Kos is being taken to Zurich; he is ill. I have a letter from the children; things are not going well there, Hans’s mother is making trouble. At breakfast I again discuss with R. what is to be done, but we could come to no conclusion. God give me strength, as He gave me the suffering!
When R. told me yesterday that I could not possibly know how much he loved me, and when he today observed that he was too much for me and my love for him was loading me down with too many sacrifices, I thought that my heart would burst.
One thing I can feel: that I must remain brave and cheerful, whatever comes, so that I do truly help him. A day of peace will then arrive, for me, too, and the children will bless me after that.
Human intentions are pitiful; a puff of wind brings them to nought, and one finds oneself always in an open sea, rudderless, at the mercy of wind and waves, like Homer’s hero. Happy the person to whom in the somber whirlpools a helpful divinity mildly appears!
Love is this divine and beneficent Leucothea. Your mother is grieving today, my children, but she remains true to you and to her love. When she is no more, think of her and pray for her rest.