Kurt was nearly 95 and I was 60 when one day in April I felt like I wanted to hear his voice. He was an early bird and I knew he used to sit at his writing desk in the rocky nook that connected his house with the surrounding nature, overlooking the huge living room. And there he was at about four o’clock a.m. Pacific time speaking clearly and distinctively about his death. He had prepared everything and felt free to go. “I go to heaven now”, he said gently. He wanted to say good bye to me and wish me well. I heard his words without understanding. So I told him the most stupid things, because I wanted him to stay. But he knew. He bid me farewell in a firm and friendly way. And it was only when I heard of his death that I understood.
Ulrike Eisenträger
Frankfurt am Main