As mentioned in my introductory post, my first real experience with death came when my sister Carmella died at age thirteen.  I was fifteen at the time, and she just so happened to not only be my sister but my best friend in all of the world. As a bit of background, Carmella (or “Mellie” as we called her) developed asthma when she was six.  I remember so well the wheezing, the tight cough, the look of fear on her face as her air passageway would tighten up and wouldn’t allow her to breathe.  It was horrible to see.  Many times, I ran off crying — screaming — for somebody to help…