But what happens to your memories?

Maia and I are riding to the Bark Park. It's something we do pretty much everyday. "When I'm in my 80s, how old will you be?" Maia asks. We decide that I will be in my 130s. "You will be dead by then," she wants to know. "Yes," I say. "Life is short," she says. "Yours is almost over." "Yes," I say, but I'm looking for someway to say, well, not quite completely over. "It's so weird," she continues. "I never thought that you die. I always thought that you would just continue." "No, we all die," I say. "Will I die," she asks. "Yes, everything dies," I say. "But what happens to you when you die." I explain some different theories--that some people think you go to heaven, some think you come back to earth, some think you just dissipate into the universe. "But what happens to your memories?" she wants to know. And I had an image of a person's memories, those most individual of possessions, and I didn't know what to say. "I don't know, Sweetie." I knew it wouldn't satisfy her, and it didn't, but I talked about her memories of me, and how who I was would like on in those memories. The pic was taken today at the Bark Park. John, Friday, August 10, 2012