Disclaimer: The Book Thief is too awesome and beautiful to be mine, so...
Liesel Meminger met death three times
The first time she was on a train on the way to a place where she'd not only find a home, but also a family in the shape of a man with eyes made of kindness and melting silver, and a woman with kindness in her heart, though she rarely showed it.
Her brother died in that train, drew his final breath right next to her. He was buried in a town without a name, the same place her story began. The place her illustrious career as a book thief began. Her brother's ending was her beginning.
Her brother didn't really die that day. He lived on in her heart and in her nightmares. He brought her closer to her papa, and helped her realize how extraordinary this otherwise ordinary man was.
The second time, it was a man, who crashed in his plane. There was smoke, and the smell of fuel hung in the air. She watched as Rudy placed his sister's teddy bear on his chest. The man smiled, before he passed and that was it. She could not help but feel he deserved more. It amazed her how easily Death came, how silent it was. Where was the sad music, the people crying? The only sounds were the heaving breaths and the footsteps of people coming nearer.
The third time she met Death was the day she was left behind again. First by her mother, now by her friends and family. She was the only survivor of the disaster, which hit the street that night.
She should have been angry. She should have cursed at the enemies of her country, but then she saw the face of the young man, who had died right in front of her, and knew they had suffered just like her. She wanted nothing more than to hate them, but she couldn't.
She could only grieve and she clung to the memories, which was in the dust on her clothes, on her face, in her hair. It was the dust of the house she had lived in. The place Papa had taught her to read in the midnight class. It was the place Max had fought the Führer. The place Rudy and she had walked together, the place he had tried to steal a kiss, and in Death she had granted him one.
She refused to wash off the memories and half-expected Mama to yell "SAUMENSCH!" at her, expected to feel the wooden spoon hitting her and making her skin bruise, but it never came. It never would.
Now, she was old and wrinkly. She had a husband, she had children and grandchildren. She had had a good life, despite everything. Now, all that was left, was for Death to take her.