The Meaning of Death

We have experienced two deaths in our extended family.
It may sound strange that I'm identifying her as my extended family, but my father's first wife has died. Rose Gerrardi was 84, a spunky Italian woman who will be buried at her family cemetery in Staten Island, New York, on Wednesday.
My brothers, Nicky, Dominick, and Nino, called me and said, "It's the brothers from the other mother. The other mother has died."
Nicky is 50; Dominick just turned 62; and Nino is 67. They are my half brothers, almost my fathers. My own mother, Betty, raised Nicky partially with me, my sister Lucy and our youngest brother Bill.
We lost our mom in March. To lose Rose in September is like losing another limb. When we were children, we lived in Toms River, New Jersey, and Rose nurtured me and loved me as if I was her own daughter. She taught me how to crochet. When Dante and I were married in 1997, Rose was there, proudly presenting a wonderful crocheted blanket and various other crocheted items like pan holders.
We visited her often over the years in Newark, and she was always the same loving old Italian lady, willing to talk and help.
The second person we've lost is Louis Petkovski. He died this Friday, Sept. 5. At age 53, he has succumbed to liver failure after battling Hepatitis C. Louis Petkovski was an immigrant from Yugoslavia. He and my father forged a tight bond. When Dante and I were married in 1997, it had been a special post-humous request of my father Nicholas that Louis have a special dance with the bride.
Like my father, Louis ran his own business, but always put his family first. No matter the time of the day, he was always there for his family.
RIP, Rose Gerrardi and Louis Petkovski.
We love you.