Thank you for your reply. Yesterday's mail included a large priority mail envelope with a collection of letters which Mommy had written to Janet.  I spent more than an hour reading, lost in affectionate reminiscence of Mommys sensitivity, intelligence and humanity. I consider it eminently appropriate that this continuation of my letter to you, should be in her language.  Mommy's letters to Janet make only passing references to me; similarly my letters to my parents mention Mommy only peripherally. Our relationship was so deep as to preclude comment.

Generally, so as not to intrude, I refrain from initiating correspondence.  But I try to answer promptly all letters that I receive.  My letters to you are an exception.  Please feel no obligation to reply in substance or even to acknowledge my letters, which while addressed to you are also integral to an intellectual and spiritual continuum in which, especially subsequent to Mommy's death, I have managed to survive.

For many years, when I think about you, there occurs to me the image of life as an ocean voyage which one must begin by pushing off against the resistance of a dock on the shore. Perhaps it is my fault, perhaps I failed you by doing my utmost not to offer you the emotional resistance against which you could assert yourself to become independent of me and live your own life and become yourself. I hope very much that when I die (in the not too distant future), you will finally feel free of me and harvest the happiness which you deserve.