Allow me to relate to you an interesting story involving death, one which is still unveiling.
January 9, 1956: A baby is born to the Avillas, a family in Honolulu, Hawaii. He is the youngest of a family of 3 boys and 3 girls, with only his mother around to care for him. They named him Thomas, after the doubting Thomas of Christian biblical fame. His sisters names are Paulette, Laverne, and most importantly, Victoria. His brothers' names are Jim and Mike.
The Avillas were far from privledged, and Thomas grew up being bullied by Jim. Mike, however, was mostly a loner, and kept away from his family. There are more lurid details involving Mike, but perhaps I'll save it for another time.
One of his family members loved him the most, however; his sister, Victoria. They went through thick and thin in the ever-changing ghettos of Hawaii, facing off against everything from bullies to gangsters to drug lords. Even as Thomas turned to crime, and even stole Victoria's jewelry, she still loved him dearly.
...However, their adventures would soon come to a tragic end. Victoria had married a navy man, and they had planned to move to California. Thomas and Victoria said a tearful goodbye...but perhaps it wasn't tearful enough.
In the summer of '84, Thomas Avilla was shot three times in the chest by a gang lord known to the police only as "Lord Brown". (This was evidenced by his style of shooting; a shot in the left shoulder, right shoulder, and heart were his trademarks.) Evidently, Thomas had been stealing one too many grams of Mary Jane, and had now payed far more than it's black market price. Victoria is inconsolable.
2 years later, the gaping hole in Victoria's heart cried out for a son, though she already had three daughters. She was unfortunately barren, however, as she had opted to have her tubes tied years before. Her only choice was adoption.
The Christian adoption agency was skeptical of this 40-something year old woman's claim that she would make an acceptable mother; there's such a thing as crow's feet, but this woman clearly had spider-crow's feet. She claimed that she was energetic enough, however, and they were convinced of her sincerity. There was only one boy available for adoption, the yet-unborn David Brown Jr., son of David and Dana Brown. The court had ordered them to give up their children as they had been beating them with curtain rods. Victoria accepted.
A week later, David Brown was born; but Victoria had other plans for his name. She named him Thomas after her departed brother, and thought solemnly of him every time she held him. She even told him an old phrase that Tom used to say to her when they were still young and running about the ghettos of Hawaii. "Ay, kid...we gonna have a good run, you and me. Let's stick tagada, and tru 'da haze of it all, and we'll always have blue skies and palm trees."
I am that child. I am Thomas Roehrman, and to this day, I look exactly like Thomas Avilla. Even though I was adopted and have no biological links to my mother, I have copied his style and everything about him without even knowing it. Death is funny like that; all that really happens is that you've finished making your impressions on others, and that you've completed your memory. But it isn't the end, the impressions you leave behind reverberate throughout the universe, and sometimes, they gather in a single location, creating a new person in your image.
Oh, and get this; the name "Tom" means..."twin".