my first neardeath was before i can remember.
i was a starving baby on the doorstep of an orphanage, a few hours from dying, when someone found me. i only know this because i was told.
when i think about that night i picture death there, a stranger in dark clothes watching from the shadows. waiting. but it wasn't my time, not yet.
then adoption gave me a new life, a new family, a whole new world. you'd think death would fade after that and become a distant memory of that cold doorstep. but i'd catch glimpses of him sometimes, a shadow moving just out of sight, a presence in empty rooms. like a neighbor you never quite meet but know is always home.
the next one i do remember. i was six and choking on a piece of chicken at the dinner table, and everything was going dark at the edges. that's when i first saw death's face clearly. he was standing in the corner of the dining room while everyone panicked, calm, almost kind. he watched with quiet interest while my adopted dad punched me, picked me up and squeezed, again and again, until the chicken came out and i could breathe. then death gave a small nod and faded back into the wallpaper.
at twelve i was showing off for my friends and kicked through the glass panel of our hall door. it cut an artery. there was blood pooling on the wooden floor and i started to feel really sluggish. on the way to the hospital i was fading in the back seat, watching the red soak through the makeshift bandages and the streetlights soak through the car window. i think death rode with us that time, a silent passenger in the front seat, glancing back now and then. our eyes met once. there was no malice there, just curiosity, like he was waiting to see which way it would go.
twenty three in berlin was our latest meeting. it was a bright afternoon and i took a wrong turn into oncoming traffic. i could see the headlights getting bigger, even in daylight. i swerved, hit a traffic island and went flying. in that stretched moment between the ground and the sky i saw death clearly, standing casually on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. it was like running into an old friend. i wasn't scared anymore. i just recognized him.
afterwards my heart was beating oddly slowly and the traffic just kept going like nothing had happened. my phone was dead in my pocket, a small electronic death next to my nearly real one, so i couldn't call for help or tell anyone how close it was. walking home through empty streets i kept seeing him. lounging at cafes, leaning on lamp posts, sitting by the canal. he watched me with the same steady smile, like he knew something i was still figuring out.
i slept for eighteen hours that night and dreamed about all the parallel lives where our paths crossed differently, where death didn't just watch and wait but stepped forward and took my hand.
i think you stop fearing the stranger at your shoulder once you've shared enough quiet moments. death becomes less of a shadow and more of a mirror, reflecting back all the life you're not living. i still catch glimpses of him in hospital corridors, at busy intersections, in quiet moments alone. we share small nods now, the kind you'd give an old teacher who knows you're not living up to your potential.
sometimes i wonder about those parallel universes, where the chicken stayed stuck, or the glass cut deeper, or the scooter didn't swerve. where death didn't just watch but acted. but maybe those versions of me never got to know him like i have.
each near miss feels like a message from another timeline, delivered by an unhurried courier in dark clothes. sometimes i think he collects them too, keeping score of all our possible endings and watching to see which ones we earn.
these days when i catch his eye across a crowded room, i don't look away. having him around makes things simple, and it's easier to see what matters. there's a strange comfort in knowing someone's always watching and always waiting. it's like having a friend who only shows up to remind you that you're running out of time.
i collect my neardeaths like postcards from parallel lives, and they all say the same thing: i'll wait, but make it count.