My cousin Larry died Monday. He was 37, my little brother's age. I think it was a respiration problem gone horribly awry. My cousin Liz emailed me to make sure that my family knew.

I went to the funeral. My dad was in daycare, and my mom stayed home because someone has to be there to open the door to let him in when he gets out. (He can't be left home alone.) Because my family is Orthodox, out of respect I wore long sleeves to cover my tattoos. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and I was uncomfortable, but I figure that his parents were way more miserable, and I survived.

Larry and I had drifted apart, but we used to stay in touch by phone. His parents and brother, my cousin Jon, made sure to tell me that Larry loved me.

Before the service, I knelt in front of my cousin, Tami, Larry's mom. She was surrounded by people, but I hoped I could add comfort. I managed to distract her: my dad was orphaned very early (infant?) and Tami is the one who told me my medical history. I got to tell her that, when I was in the hospital in May, I told the doctors that I wouldn't be able to be so thorough if it weren't for my cousin Tami. That made her happy.

Her husband, Ed, Larry's dad, whom I'd met three times, maybe, threw his arms around me and thanked me for being there. Ed has a knack for making people feel good, and welcomed, even when he was mourning outliving his child.

The rabbi broke down during the eulogy. I didn't know that Larry was frum, but he was known as "the one who took his father to Chabad."

At least fifty people showed up - not bad considering that Jewish people bury immediately, and word has to get out quickly. Jon's wife flew in from Israel, a twelve hour flight, and made it to the grave side early. Her cousin made it from California.

I went back to the house for shiva. Believe me: I didn't want to. I don't want to believe that my vibrant cousin is dead. However, shiva is for the family, and it's a mitzvah to go, obviously. Tami and I talked more about my medical problems, but she wouldn't let go of my hand. It really hurt, but I figure that Tami was hurting more. Seriously, I managed to distract her, and I was glad I sat there.

Tami also told me more about my heritage, too. The information I lost out on because I didn't have a grandmother to tell me.

I talked to Revi, Jon's wife, for a bit. I told her what I was thinking as I drove to the Bellins' home. The only people who showed up for the funeral were people who either loved Larry, or who loved his family and wanted to support them. No one needed a ticket to mourn. There were no musicians or people looking for a moment in the spotlight; Larry was simply eulogized by a rabbi who knew him, and by his father. Just a thought.

I'm still crying - it's the first time in a long time that I've cried, whether I need to or not - and I need to get in the shower - but I wanted to write about Larry for a little bit. This weekend, if my dad is lucid, I'll take him for shiva.

Bye, Larry. I should have kept in touch, and I'll try to act more like you to keep your memory alive.