Coping with Death

Yesterday during Sunday school we found out that one of our elderly members died. It's so odd how, in the elderly especially, a hip fracture seems to be the beginning of the end. My own great-aunt's demise was the same.

I find that to console myself, I turn to John Donne's Holy Sonnet #10. I don't think anything better can be said. I know I want this beautiful piece of verse to be read at my funeral...

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Death is conquered and we are at peace with God in heaven. What more is there?