snow borne sorrow

I'm in Boston staying with family for three days. My cousin died suddenly and I'm here to pay my respects and help where I can. She's being buried on the cape, in the Bourne military cemetery, or she will be when the ground thaws.

There were twelve of us cousins growing up, eleven now, and she was unique even for this group. She was what she was, and then some: conspicuous and colorful, unflaggingly friendly and decidedly un-autistic; rough around the edges, she had more heart than two average people put together.

Her family are grief stricken and bereaved, while remaining outwardly thoughtful and composed. But they're Catholic and Irish so that's what you get. We're tough motherfuckers, I tell you. We have to be, we go to our graves carrying everything that's ever happened to us, a lifetime of effort and sorrow. But we love to laugh, and live to love, so there's some hard-won balance there.

And she was well loved. Notice of her death was on the front (and second) page of the Patriot Ledger, and the line at her wake was long and robust. Life as she lived it was a bold, feet-first adventure, and she deserves her rest.

Amen. Amen. Amen.