I’ve seen Death around every corner lately, as a phantom out of the side of my eye, as a stalker just around the bend, as a wisp of wind floating in on a summer storm, beating down in sheets of rain. He slinks in, his black coat trailing behind him, prowling around the edges of my consciousness, reminding me of his presence. He was there in the car as we road to the funeral home to lay my husband’s aunt to rest. “I hate funerals,” my husband said that morning. “I’m not really sure if there’s a person alive who likes them,” I replied. “She’s going to make me speak.”…