His life was what it was. Because children grow up, we think a child's purpose is to grow up. But a child's purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn't disdain what lives only for a day.
It pours the whole of itself into each moment. We don't value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life's bounty is in its flow, later is too late.
Was the child happy while he lived? That is a proper question. The only question.
Tom Stoppard - "The Coast of Utopia"