I found out today that I can't go to the funeral. This is the second funeral in as many weeks that I find myself forced to miss, and I spent today swinging between anger, frustration and grief.I'm not sure how much I might have grieved, had I been able to go; my cousin was certainly present in my life, growing up, but we were nearly a decade apart in age, and we only saw each other once or twice a year, at best. It's been a long, long time since we talked, and we've never talked regularly.But she was family. She died very young, in her mid-30s, and left behind a new husband and a daughter too young to really understand what's happened, beyond the fact that mommy's gone.For those reasons, and for her sisters, and for my aunts, and my parents, and all the family, up and down the line, I really wanted to go. An extra body in the chapel helps. An extra voice around to crack a joke or tell a story in the silence helps. I'm not the best at either, but I could try.But it comes back to money, in the end; the poverty I endured years ago hits me again. Without advance notice, and enough planning, and having my savings already drained recently, I find myself unable to physically afford the flight and car rental, and the time off work. Grieving, perversely, takes second nature to daily life.These are the worst days of life; when the things you swear to yourself you will always put first - people, your family, your blood - take second seat. And for what? So you can pay rent, and take the bus, and hope to god you inch closer to the days when you have choices again, the same that you threw away, a long time ago.It's enough to ruin a person with anger, to tip him over and lodge a cynical sliver somewhere deep, where it can't be removed.But there are ways out, of course; you can find it in music, you can find it in wind blown across your face in february. You can find it in people younger than you, with fresh eyes and happy conversations that are good and clean and unimportant. I spent some time on the way home, listening over and over to a song I found a few months ago. It's by Justin Rutledge, and it's the sort of song to yank you out of the cold for a while.My cousin was a happy person, much of the time; I remember her laughing easily. So I'll share this song, which almost makes me happy. I'll drink a few in her name, while I think of all the conversations we never had, and try to forgive myself for a while.