"I will repay"—July 8, 1973

Sunday, July 8, 1973

Dearest Jim—

I am in Vilnius, this is the first day here, my thoughts and emotions are as jumbled as ever in my life. It is hard to believe that I am on the other side of the world, and even harder to believe that I am here.

Moscow was awful, I hated it, it was supposed to make me feel gay and carefree (the largest hotel in Europe?). . . .

Today I swam in the Neris, I wonder if you can conceive of the significance of that to me. I've met my sister and her husband and about ten other relatives who appear to be ready to give me all, everything that they possess. They are pretty wonderful people—trying incredibly hard to make this pleasant for me.

There are red signs everywhere, with exclamation marks, printed in Lithuanian and Russian. The signs are very enthusiastic about the friendship of nations—you will excuse me, I will stop here, I am about to go too far. The courses begin tomorrow morning at nine and last until one each day. That's not bad, a good amount of free time, and much to see and ponder. I'll spend part of it walking . . .

When I live in Boston, I don't miss muy parents much. I certainly don't actively long for them. Yet here, as I was sitting in the garden of my father's other daughter, I suddenly realized how wrong, how stupid it is for me to be here alone. I know now what genuine sorrow and grief feel like—I could almost see my father sitting there, among his children and grandchildren, it was a tangible image. I cried but it meant nothing, this is a sorrow beyond sorrow, and anger beyond anger. I have never felt an emotion of this strength before, towards anyone or anything.

Where does the quote come from—oh—Anna Karenina, "I will repay." For this, no one could repay. I have no words, nothing to hold onto, there is no point to feeling anything.

Now I know how much I love my father. It boggles the mind.

I will write very soon dearest,

Vaiva