Shortly after Rock’s death, I was walking through a meditation garden prepared for a visit from the Dali Lama. Two monks were standing on either side of the entry. It was Rocky’s anniversary and when I looked up at them I uttered this to the strangers:
“Today is the anniversary of my son’s death.”
“How old was he?”
“He was ten years old.”
The one monk looked me in the eyes and said, “He had a full life”.
That was such a powerful statement that it grew on me more and more as I thought about it. “He had a full life.”
Rocky did get and give so much in life.
I tell myself that my tragedy in this life’s journey isn’t about me in the purest of sense; it’s about Rocky, the person who blessed us with his presence. It’s about his choice to go. It was never about our desire for him to stay. He came to us. We were a gift to each other, and only he could know when he had finished his work. Ten years was a full life for him. It’s a daily struggle to honor his choice.