On Dec 21, 2017, at 3:19 PM, Ellsberg, Robert wrote:
Dearest Liz and Gil,
Forgive me for intruding in this unbearably sad moment. I just heard the news from Peggy, and of course I had to reach out to you with love, despite the fact that we have been out of touch, and words are so inadequate.
There is no consolation I can offer, but please let me express these words that come from my heart (and forgive me for any presumption):
There is no measuring the suffering that Jamie experienced. Whatever calculation went into his last act, I’m sure it was never intended to hurt or punish you, or to lay any burden of guilt or recrimination on you. Of course, that does not spare your feelings, but I am sure that whatever went on his mind—whether impulse or conscious plan—it was intended only to ease his own pain and not with a thought to the pain it would cause you. Try to forgive him.
Ultimately you were powerless to rescue him—though you both did everything that was in your power to help, and spared no effort or expense on his behalf. He could not have had more loving and dedicated parents. Try to forgive yourselves.
Though he experienced suffering beyond what I can imagine, his life was about more than suffering. He was a hugely gifted and brilliant person. He was loved by many people and he experienced love. Apart from the pain, he had many experiences of happiness, and he also brought happiness into the world. I was fortunate to be present for many of those happy occasions. I remember in particular how much fun we all had working on jigsaw puzzles at the lake, with all the boys shouting out “Brilliant!” whenever anyone found the missing piece. I remember his kindness to my girls, the great impression he made on Peggy’s classes with his brilliant literary gifts. I remember so many times that he and Nicholas spent together.
The last time I saw him he was with a girl at the Tribeca film festival where Nicholas was showing a film. He was cheerful. He greeted me warmly, and it made me happy to know that he and Nick had maintained a connection that was forged when they were infants.
Of course I knew Jamie from the moment he was born. I remember how you both glowed with happiness. He came into a world that received him with love. But he carried a weight that he ultimately couldn’t bear . . . and who can blame him, or know that we would not have done the same.
Dorothy Day was very troubled by the suicide of a friend’s son. She asked a priest how to pray for this youth. He told her something that she never forgot—it must count as one of the most important spiritual insights that anyone ever shared with her. He said, “There is no time with God. All the prayers you would have offered for this boy while he lived are still valid and effective.” This brought her much comfort over the years, as she suffered similar losses. (Dorothy herself, as a young woman, twice tried to kill herself.)
Apart from the gift of life, God has given us the great gift of freedom. Surely Jamie did not choose darkness but freedom from suffering that had become intolerable. (Again, please forgive me if I don’t know all the circumstances or make assumptions I have no right to.)
I love you both and I pray with all my strength that in the days to come you will find the support you need to get through this now dark season, and that beyond that you will be flooded with memories of the sweetness and joy that you shared with your darling son, and experience gratitude (as I do) for having shared the earth with him for this all-too-brief time.
May you find peace, may you find healing—not today, or tomorrow, but with the inexorable passing of time; may you be wrapped in God’s loving embrace; may you finally come to know that wisdom—which no one desires and no one seeks—that only comes by way of fire. And afterwards, the still small voice.
With love and sorrow,
Robert