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It started when I was four years old. I saw a man behind my mother wearing an all black suit. He almost reminded me of my grandfather, but the second he appeared I was terrified farther than my little mind could comprehend. My mom was supposed to go to the store and leave me with my big sister, Abigail, but I cried and cried, saying the man was behind her. Finally, exhausted, she threw her purse down and stormed back into her room annoyed. She was shocked when she found out the store she wanted to go to was robbed on the news, leaving no survivors. When I was 12, I went to my best friend's house. I saw the bruises and cuts and knew what happened. The next day death was right behind her. I asked her to stay at my house that night. And she agreed. When my mother picked her up, death wasn't behind her, he was behind her father, who had already engulfed himself in a six pack. I looked death in the eyes and nodded. Car accident. He got drunk and wanted his daughter to come home. He hit a semi. He didn't make it. Ever since then, I've seen him. Behind older people, behind people who used walkers or clearly had some kind of disabilities. I saw him behind children. One time, I saw him behind a pregnant woman and wondered who he would take. I've saved people. A woman not looking into traffic, a toddler that had followed a man claiming to have puppies. My sister. My husband. I didn't see him for years. I saw him on the sidewalk, of course, but never again in my family. For my daughter's 5th birthday I took her to the mall. Death was everywhere, behind me, behind my daughter, behind the old women and men and behind the children. Death looks at me with pity as I hear the booms from the entrance. I don't think I can save us all this time.