1/14 November 1916
Can I write about it? Can I? Will I find the courage, and yet I want to tell you, just now, because in my unutterable despair it was you my heart called for, you, you, my old Mama from whom I am cruelly separated, from whom for two long terrible sorrow filled months I have had never a word.
Why was this to be? Who can tell? The popular belief is that God took him from me, to pray for his country that is in danger – so let it be!
He was so well lately, so jolly, so sweet. We are not living in town but in a house that has been „réquisitionnée” for us close by out in the country, Cotroceni being in a too exposed position in these days of aeroplanes and bombs.
One day he had a sore throat and sudden fever – but he did not seem ill with it, although the temperature was enormous. The doctor declared that it was „amigdalite” – the next day he has the same temperature, the it suddenly fell and and we thought all was over – but the next day up goes the temperature again and nothing can make it go down, it remains 40, 40… 40…. In despair I send for other doctors, there is a consultation, they take some of his blood and analyse it and find typhoid fever… that terrible illness that seems to follow our family and the male members of our family. Continue reading