My kid: Papa, what happens when we die?
Me: Come here, kid!
(I give them a smile, pull them closer, and ask.)
Can you please give me a kiss first?
My kid reaches out and kisses me on my right cheek. I close my eyes when this happens. I absorb the moment. I feel truly alive in this moment.
Do you remember your toy that broke yesterday?
My kid: Yes (nodding)
Me: We could not make it work, right?
My kid: Yes (face turning sad).
Me: It’s okay to feel sad. You want to talk about it?
My kid: (pauses for a moment)
It was my favorite toy. I miss playing with it.
Me: I understand (I gently cup their face from the side, softly caressing their cheek with my thumb).
We both don’t speak for a few moments.
Me: (with calculated excitement in my voice) Do you remember that day when we played with it the whole night?
My kid: Yes. (Sadness starts changing into excitement.)
A moment passes, and excitement takes over. (Smiling they say.)
And we didn’t even know when we slept!
Me: Yes!
(We both are smiling now.)
Me: Just like we cannot make your toy work, when someone dies, we cannot bring them back.
(They are curiously looking at me.)
(I continue.)
And after we die, we cannot feel anything.
(They are listening intently.)
My kid: How does that feel?
I had not expected this question. I start thinking. They notice my thinking. After a few seconds, I say,
It’s like when we are in deep sleep.
(That’s the best I can describe feeling – not feeling anything.)
Their curiosity seems to have been satisfied.
(My wife enters the room.)
(My kid excitedly runs towards her, saying)
My kid: Do you know what happens when we die?
(My wife and I look at each other for a moment, smiling.)
She kneels down and excitedly says,
My wife: No, what happens?…