Bring Back Big Families

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Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about death. Two guys I grew up listening to and watching—Brad Arnold of 3 Doors Down and James Van Der Beek—both left us far too soon after hard fights with cancer. As a dad raising a big family, those losses hit different. They got me ruminating on what death really means, what we leave behind for our kids, and where faith fits in. I tried to write my own poem about it, but every time, I kept coming back to this one.

It’s John Donne’s Holy Sonnet, one of my all-time favorites since I first read it in a college class on metaphysical poetry. Donne stares death down and refuses to let it have the last word. It’s defiant, hopeful, eternal. I love it so much I’ll probably ask for it to be read at my own funeral someday.

Here it is:

Death Be Not Proud

By John Donne

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.

I don’t know. I just love this poem. It reminds me that as a dad, the real legacy isn’t the end: it’s the love, the faith, the memories we pass on. Death doesn’t win. And it never will.

If you’d like to explore more of John Donne’s work, here’s a great pocket edition I recommend:

Donne: Poems (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets Series)