John's putting Merrick to bed. The 12 year old baby monitor still works and from the kitchen, I hear Merrick say:
"I'm sad Thurston is dead. I'm afraid to die, Daddy."
Every maternal cell is fully loaded and vibrating. I turn up the monitor. These are delicate times, John. Frail psyches at stakes.
No reply from John.
"Daddy, do you know when you die? Do you know so you can get ready?"
John (seemingly waking up): "Uh, no. Nobody knows when you're going to die. It just happens."
WRONG ANSWER. The correct answer is: you don't have to worry about this for nearly 100 years because you die when you're very very old. And I won't die until I'm very old and I will take care of your forever and ever (because you are now just four and can't handle much Truth about painful issues of existential sort).
Merrick.: "What does it feel like, when your heart stops and you go somewhere else? What does it feel like when your heart stops?"
John: "Dazed. You feel dazed."
I just turn off the monitor and give up.