The paragraphs below are from this morning. After I wrote them,
I thought they were too Polonius-like and decided not to send them.
As I reread them this evening, I change my mind.

Yesterday the sky was grey, and the clouds brought intermittent rain.
Today the sun is shining and the haze which veils the blue heavens is
transparent and almost imperceptible. Much of yestersay, some of the
night, and again this morning, I spent reflecting, intermittently on
your letter. Most immediately, on my own residual role in the lives of
Laura, of the children, and most important, of course, yourself. I'm
poignantly aware of the sense of relief that intruded into my mourning
not only for Margrit, but also for Mutti und Papa, aware that my
responsibilities to them, while far from discharged, were nonetheless 
irrevocably terminated, liberating the spirit for other concerns. It's
unavoidable that your experience of my death, while far from identical,
will be analogous. My present duty is to conduct myself in such a way
that when I die you will have no regrets, feel no guilt, and experience
but a minimum of relief.

Arguably, Rebekah's having the brakes repaired on the Blue Car is
evidence of good judgment. Obviously, her tolerance for automotive
risk is lower than mine. The fact that she needed to conceal her actions
from me is incident to the almost total absence of meaningful communication
between us. That's not her fault, not your fault and not Laura's fault.
Unlike Margrit, I don't blame anyone for the lack of a confidential
relationship, and absence which may be attributable to a genetic
predisposition or merely to the generational gap. There's nothing
I can do about it. The ensuing freedom is reciprocal.

Benjamin's situation I interpret as a reverse Tonio Kroeger syndrome.
Benjamin may be somewhat - or more than somewhat - offended by the
esthetic prowess and social assertiveness of Nathaniel, and as a result
he may feel unappreciated. I believe it very important that we all should
be accepting and uncritical of him, immature as he is, struggling to
find himself and his place in the world. It's almost certain that in the
next four years, he will become a different person; our task is to accept 
that transformation, whatever it will turn out to be.