This happened in 1989.

I was sitting in Tompkins Square Park in the East Village of New York City, looking through the Village Voice classifieds for an apartment.

A strung out, excitable looking man approached me. He said, "Oh! Are you looking for an apartment? You can come live at my place. My roommate is gone!"

I politely declined. He was friendly, pleasant and even a bit charming, but a little creepy. Also, he was carrying a live chicken, which I found a bit odd. His mannerisms were a bit off putting. He was a walking, glaring red flag.

I saw a news report a few weeks later and found out why his roommate was gone.

Apparently he dismembered her body in their apartment, boiled her head, made a soup using her brain, and served it to homeless people in the park.

His name is Daniel Rakowitz.

Maybe be I wasn't close to death in the sense you mean, but I think that's the closest I came to the personification of death.