Today Laia learned that everybody eventually dies. Naturally, she does not want me to die. As I tell her that this is inevitable, I consider adding a promise of a return or a new opportunity to meet again maybe somewhere else (somewhere out there, far away). It just pops up. Perhaps that is the way religions were born: out of fear of telling children our time together is rather short. Fear of leaving them alone. Fear, really, of hurting them. Being my daughter, Laia is of course well aware of the ontology of ghosts (and monsters and zombies, she would add), so she actually looks forward to my reemergence as a semitransparent immortal entity; a presence she imagines both haunting and comforting. I suspect she would be thrilled to have her own personal ghost. Later, she will learn they are also essential to keep life on track. I will make sure to teach her that.