The first time I saw her, I was eight years old. It was the day my mother was killed in a convenience store robbery.
I was at home, playing outside with my little brother and the woman was standing down the street, just looking at me. She was quite lovely, with long black hair and ice blue eyes.
She looked so sad. Ten minutes later my dad got the call from the police.
My dad left us a few years after that, he said he wasn't cut out to be a single father. My brother and I moved in with my Nana.
I was eighteen years old the next time I saw the blue-eyed lady. I was on a smoke break, behind the fast food restaurant where I worked.
When I got home that day I found out my Nana had had a stroke. They said that she died instantly.
My brother overdosed two years, to the day, after that. We had moved into our own apartment after Nana died.
I was appointed his legal guardian; we had seen so much tragedy that the courts agreed not to separate us. I never even knew he was on drugs, much less heroin, he hid it well.
I saw her outside our window. He couldn't be saved.
She was outside the operating room the day I lost my wife and daughter. The doctors stepped around her, but they never seemed to see her. She appeared to be crying, but didn't make a sound.
They said they did everything they could when my wife starting bleeding uncontrollably during labor. Our baby girl never even took a breath. I buried them together.
I've seen her on each of the three occasions I have tried to kill myself. It never works.
The rope snapped, the gun wouldn't fire and I woke up thirty-four hours after ingesting a bottle of sleeping pills with no adverse effects. I wish I knew what she wanted.
I wish I knew why she won't let me die. I have nothing left to live for.
She's always here now. For about a month now she hasn't left my side. She just stands there, silently, with tears rolling down her cheeks.