Who is death?

I put one foot in front of the other, slowly but surely, they were determined. If you could have seen behind the concealment of my pant legs you would have seen my trembling knees. I was barely maintaining my balance. My eyes made evident that it had been a moving service, most everyone could understand the feelings behind the tears, even though they didn't know for who they cried, they still flowed. I couldn't make sense of the feelings. I couldn't understand the senseless deaths, and the loss of such innocent people. Yet there stood the reaper, ever present, haunting the shadows, waiting to steal someone away from us. He always managed to steal the good one's, someone how his fiery eyes always found the ones that mattered most. And once they were in his sinister grip they were lost forevermore, never to return. Most people can't see him...But I do. I see him in every corner, in every room. He lurks, waiting to snatch life away. Waiting to suck what little hope we have left, waiting to snuff out what little light remains in our lives. However, sometimes I think he almost does us a service. We truly never know what we have until its gone, and sometimes in those moments of loss, of sorrow, we are allowed to see things for how genuine they are. The tears of a child having lost a father, the wails of a mother who's lost a son, and the silent breaking heart of the husband who's lost a wife. In those moments we are allowed to see a part of life that is pure, that is vulnerable, and that is honest. At that instance, nothing else matters. Nothing else remains, except the brutality of it all. And there we are left, the yearning for our lost ones still in our heart, and the confusion still  in our mind.