This is My Goliath – But I am David

I thought it was too big—
the fight, the weight, the reality.
Everything explained to me,
words I didn’t recognize,
risks I didn’t think of.

They said they could fix my heart—
But how do you fix the fear
that beats louder than the thing itself?

This is my Goliath.

5 days before,
heart levels too high,
bring the percent of risk down.
Blood thinner — Heparin tastes weird,
Chocolate tastes funny now.

A small instance of what’s to come,
fatigue,
weakness,
IV,

the fight.

This is my Goliath.

The day before,
can’t eat past 10,
don’t want to choke in the OR.
Sleep eludes me, machines beep — I try not to hear it.

Young doctor, anesthesiologist. — Cute. I cling to that.
What music do you like?
What?
I’m scared, and he’s asking for my favorite music.
Anime? Yes. I think. Attack on Titan.

This is my Goliath.
One question is all I have,
Can I have something so I won’t throw up?
He laughs.           He laughs?
That’s it? Of course you can. Anything else? Anything else.
Anything…

I can’t say that I’m scared of not waking up.

I can’t say I don’t want to do this.
I can’t say Goliath stands on my chest,
breathing down my ribs.
I can’t say I’m terrified.

So I say what he wants to hear.
No.
I’m alright.          Thank you.

But that’s not what I really mean, is it?
What I really mean?
What I really mean.
It is.

I’m not consumed by Goliath,
since David lives in the heart they want to mend.
I’m not crushed by the giant that falls.
since David lives in the heart they fixed.

Papoo

I would call him about the most random things.
And he would always pick up.
In the middle of a project, watching TV, playing chess.
His voice would soothe the aching parts in my soul,
deep, loving, kind, quiet.

So why God, why did he have to go?
He was supposed to be there at my wedding.
He was supposed to hold his great-grandkids.
He was supposed to teach me so many things.
He was supposed to love so much more.

He was supposed to live.

He was everything I wanted to be, everything I know I can try to be.
So I will live for him.
For him, I will open up a bakery and
have Rice Krispies treats as the special.
For him I will love deeply.

He said his goodbyes, but did I?
I uttered the words,
But God was it the truth?
My goodbye?
Did I mean what I said, my final words?

I didn’t want it to be true.
I didn’t want to say goodbye,
I didn’t want it to be real,
because if it was, what was I going to do?
My Papoo, gone in the blink of an eye.

He loved so deeply. So deeply it hurt.
So many people were changed because of him,
He took people into his home, and he loved so hard.
He was the man everyone strived to be.
He was the one people looked up to.

So why, God, why did he have to go?
He was the kindest man I knew.
He was a believer, so why did God take him?
You say, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a little; I will set you
over much. Enter into the joy of your master.”

But what about us? The ones who live with his memory,

The ones who are pained to remember him?
We miss him, God.
We forget his voice little by little.
We remember how frail he was those days before he passed.

I remember him in everything I do, God.
Tea and toast remind me of my grandma, my nana.
They were married for 48 years,
And God, her house is too quiet, her soul too lost!
He was her everything, her anchor.

He was supposed to bring her tea and toast,
But the teapot lay empty and the toaster cold.
He was supposed to play chess for hours.
But his rank stands still, his computer dusty.
He was supposed to write corny poems till we all laughed.
But his treasure hunts are no more, his words lost.

So why, God, why did you take him?
I know why you did.
But it’s hard to accept it.
I have to accept it, but it’ll take time, God.
Forgive me, it’ll take time.

You are his savior.
Yet, you took my heart with him.
I ache every day, but I thank you all the more
You took him from this hurt,
and into the Peace that is You.

I’ll try to forgive you, but I know I cannot thank you.
Thank you for taking him from his suffering.
Thank you for saving his soul.
Thank you for loving him so much.
Thank you for bringing him to eternal peace.

Is my Papoo in your arms now?
Is he safe, eating spaghetti, or bacon, and playing chess
till he’s content?
Does he know how much we still love him?
Can he see us, love us from afar?

It’ll take time to understand, but
God. I know you were right.
God. I thank you.