March 18. My mother describes to me how unbearable her life has become. I can imagine it: the few hours in the living room were already almost beyond my strength. I listen to my mother, whom I love so much, look into her aged eyes, into which I have not been able to look for decades because my father guards the access. There is nothing I can say to my mother, except perhaps that I have been lucky enough to find women who did not let me get away with many things, a luck my father did not have.