Had he lived, Rachmaninoff would turn 19 today. Last year we celebrated what had seemed impossible just weeks before considering the advanced state of his kidney disease. His 18th birthday was truly a gift of time.
Nearly a year later, I understand that Rock meant to hang on for me. I couldn't see it then; it would have been too painful. But our bond was very strong. In paying tribute to his memory I also celebrate his life.
Happy Birthday, boy-boy. You live on in my heart.
"...Of his bones are coral made:
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange."