Paris, 1 August 1890
One cannot write how sad one is, nor find solace in pouring
out one's heart. May I come to you soon? I still have to make
all sorts of arrangements here, but if it is possible, I would
like to leave here on Sunday morning to be with you in the
evening. It is a grief that will weigh on me for a long time
and will certainly not leave my thoughts as long as I live, but
if one should want to say anything about it, it is that he
himself has found the rest he so much longed for. If he could
have seen how people behaved toward me when he had left us and
the sympathy of so many for himself, he would at this moment
not have wanted to die.
Today I received your letter and the one from Wil, and I
thank you both. I can better tell you everything than write.
Dr. Gachet and the other doctor were exemplary and have looked
after him well, but they realized from the first moment that
there was nothing one could do. Vincent said “I would
like to go like this,” and half an hour later he had his
wish. Life weighed so heavily upon him, but as happens so often
everyone is now full of praise, also for his talent. Maybe it
was fortunate that Jo was not here, it would have been such a
shock for her. May she also come once I am there? Later we will
go to Amsterdam for a couple of days. Oh, Mother, I so much
long to be with you. I suppose you will have written to Lies. I
can't do it at this time. Tomorrow I will only know for certain
whether I can leave, and if I cannot come, I will let you know.
Oh, Mother, he was so very much my own brother.
At this time, Vincent was 37 year old
Theo van Gogh. Letter to His Mother. Written 1 August 1890 in Paris. Translated by Robert Harrison, edited by Robert Harrison, number .
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