Before Going To Sleep

„Dadou, can you make me a pouch?“
„Sure.“ I scooped my hands together so that they formed a den with hole to sneak into. She wriggled her tiny hand through the hole and I held it firmly between my hands.
„I like that. Like a marmott, it makes me feel safe and cosy … Will you always make a pouch for me?“
„Whenever you like and whenever I am around … as long as I live.“
She leande her head against my arm, snuggled up. From there she mumbled: „We all have to die one day.“
„Will you die before me?“
„Yes … I hope so.“
„Why do you hope so?“
„Because when I am old I will have had a long and good life behind me and you will still be very young and strong and there is still so much for you to do.“
„I‘ll be very sad when you die before me … Who will be making me a pouch?“

„How is it when one dies?“
„I don‘t know … I haven‘t made the experience … Nobody has.“

„Dadoo … Would you like to have someone with you who makes you a pouch when you have to die … to put your hand into it and feel safe.“
„I am sure I would love that.“
„I will be there and make you a pouch.“