"Girls, when you die - that's it. I'm pretty sure there is no heaven."

They've asked me what happens when you die before, of course - just like they've asked where babies come from, and which is, ultimately, best: Madonna, or Lady GaGa? 

     But the thing with those Big, Difficult Conversations that you dread, is that you never have them just the one time. If I've told them about what happens when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much once, I've told them a hundred times. They just keep forgetting. And so, to be fair, do I. Last time we went through "How do babies get in the tummy?" I did all the blah bah blah "Daddy's seed" bit.

       "And how does Daddy's seed get in your tummy?" Eavie ask.

"Through Daddy's willy," Dora replied, briskly. "It gets big."

    "Oh." I said, momentarily nonplussed.  "Oh. And who told you that?"

"You did, Mummy," Dora said. "Last time."

      "Oh," I said. "I must have been feeling very chatty that day. Oh."

So yes. We've talked about death before - not that they or I remember it, obviously, but I'm pretty sure I ladled on the "going to heaven" thing quite strongly. I think I've always done the "heaven" thing  - albeit, given my otherwise-strident aethism, a mealy-mouthed caveat of "Some people believe ...." at the start. I JUST DIDN'T WANT TO TELL THEM THEY ROT, OK? They always ask just before bedtime, and it's enough faff as it is, what with teeth-cleaning, and finding Eavie's "Chicken" doll (it's a duck - don't ask), and Dora often just lobbing in a querelous, "I feel like I might be scared, later, and not able to sleep," just at the point I've started to really visualise putting on America's Next Top Model, and eating an orange. You don't want to chuck in rotting then. That's delaying bedtime by at least an hour. No, no - just waffle about heaven a bit, and then get back down to the telly.

       But this week, I had a revealation. I interviewed Eddie Izzard - pretty much the most urgent and driven man in the world; which he all puts down to his mother dying when he was five - and realised that so  much of what screws up this world comes down to not having a sense of urgency: of time passing, and, eventually, completely running out. 

     Our vague, communal, lazy belief that poverty, global warming, various wars, inequalities and vexations are all things that will be sorted out "in a bit," without any particular application on our behalves, surely spring from the root-belief that, in some way, this isn't it; that this world is an odd warm-up act for the real thing: lovely old eternity, where the real stuff kicks in. As long a we all think we can "sort it out later," we'll never sort it out now. Humanity is hard-wired to push every deadline to its limit. And of course, if we believe in an afterlife, there is no limit. If you believe in an afterlife - where all your goodness will finally be noted, and taken into account, and justice will reign - it's like playing a computer game in "infinite lives" cheat-mode.

   If you believe, from day one, however, that this is your only pop at it - if you come to terms, early on, with the simple yet gigantic concept of there actually being An End  - then this is, surely, almost like deciding not to be mad any more. Everything suddenly becomes very clear. You can't make up with your awkward mother in heaven - you've got to do it now. If the idea of human suffering upsets you, then you must do something about it, like, this week. If you think you'll miss Nanna when she dies, call her up right now - you're not going to sit around and natter with her in heaven for hours. There's no catch-up facility, and no re-play facility. There's no "next level." I don't want my kids growing up with a sense of endlessly deferring things. I want them to be as alive as they can. I want them to be present in their own lives.

    So yes. Next time they ask about death, I'm going to say, very gently, "The amazing thing is kids, we're alive! We can do anything we want now, if we put our minds to it. We can think and talk and feel and move, and make our lives pretty much however we want. So that when we die, we don't regret anything. We die with our diaries full."

      Yes. That's what I'll say. Unless America's Next Top Model is about to start.