I have been trying to catch up on my bookmarked diaries (Those journals that are not listed as my regular reads here on Dland... folks that I check up on about every week or so. There are as many of them as there are on my favorites list. At least.), and had to stop here.

Another death during the holidays. Almost certainly more traumatic than that which happened in our family. And I have nothing to say. No words of comfort to give him in his guestbook.

My cousin was buried on Christmas Eve. In a cemetery not too far from Jo. None of us attended, and his family understood.

Jeff was a year younger than I, raised on a Nebraska farm. He also was a father, although divorced. My sister had sent an email on Wednesday, advising me he had had an aneurism rupture on his aorta, and was in surgery. We found out he had died when we arrived on Saturday.

My strongest memory of this cousin (we have dozens, literally) was when we visited their farm. Probably when he and I were pre-teens. We shared his bed on the upper floor, and I was amazed when he woke at 05:30 for chores.

Cheerfully.

Last time we visited was several years ago, in the hearse as we escorted my uncle's body, my mother's twin sister's husband, to his final rest. A cold but sunny Nebraska April morning, with snow still on the ground. All eight of his nephews as pall bearers.

So, Death takes no holiday. Which is as it should be, I suppose. Births do not, either.

But it occurs to me that this wonderful invention of the "On-Line Journal" carries a price. Yes, it allows us to peek into the daily lives and wonderful and mundane experiences of lives that we will never lead. But it also brings in all the rest of life's experiences.

Sometimes the trade is not a bargain.