Sometimes you can just feel it in your gut when a day is gonna be governed by the runs, but to predict an entire year of gas well I do say that is a gift I wish I could find the receipt for and use as toilet paper.

2013 has been the cancer of years for me and one does not beat cancer one only hopes to survive it.

It’s been awhile since we’ve had any sort of pillow talk. This post will verge on being considered a vent-shesh but trust me your toes will curl at the end. If you’ve gotten this far I’m not gonna guilt trip you into finishing by saying, “If you leave now I’m gonna cut myself.” I wouldn’t do that. I have a perfectly fine window feet away from me if that’s how you wanna play it. (Special note: I’m really HIGH up.)

Let’s get to it…

Life comes in waves and sometimes drowning is the only path you have to really living – Kirk quote.

It’s taken me SOOO LOOOONG to write this pillow talk because I know what it means. It’s visiting fuck face feelings and admitting huge failures I’ve buried for a year… a year I saw coming.

I never believed we would make it to 2013.

A huge part of me still wishes it had ended. 2012 I was in a delicious place. I’d never been so happy. For New Years, I was content picturing E.T. crash landing outside my window hungry for destruction. And in a way something alien did appear as my world came to a smashing finale.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..My grandmother died…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I feel my eyes watering as I write this but NOT because she’s dead. Hmmm… I blocked out how long I looked after her for… I think it was three weeks. It was April. A month after my birthday. That I know.

I’ll rewind…

She LOVED to drink.

I’m not saying she was an alcoholic but in the 27 years of visiting I never saw her without a little hooch by her side. And I say GOOD FOR HER. She was 98. At 98 the only label people have the right to give you is, “GOD DAYUUUUM! YOU’RE 98!”

She LOVED to talk.

OMG she was a Queen Colombian Chatty Cathy. She had an opinion about everything and if she ever gave you the silent treatment, well you knew what her stance on the matter was by her cataract filled eyes. Sorry Abuelita but you know it’s true. You’d lose days in one of her stories.

She LOVED the Deis Clan and would always say so followed by, “I’m ready to die.”

It’s the weirdest feeling experiencing someone you love — who by no means was suicidal just had a good run and was tired — remind you every day they’re looking forward to death. She’d say it in a way like the Let Me Die Now Kit is on sale at Target. But come on, it’s Target – you can’t go in there and just buy ONE thing.

Toward the end, her push for me to find such a sale bordered on being a bit of a buzzkill. I swear if coupons existed she would have owned a scrapbook. Though my Español was/is a little rusty some words are universal – death is universal. The whole thing made me feel like such a child. I’m a GROWN MAN. <—— See big letters = grown man.

From 5 AM to 1 PM I looked after her, my mother filled in on the days, my father stayed the nights. Abuelita hung on for a good three weeks. But if you were to ask her what she was holding on too she would be the first to admit, “I don’t know. I’m ready to die.”

Really there’s no one to blame here for this delightful mood shifter but the asker who walked into it.

During this time I had nightmares EVERY day, night and nap. And I mean EVERY time I closed my eyes. I was so scared my father would ask me to take over his night-shift and while on my watch it would happen. She would pass – this dream later came true…

She had gotten so sick her lungs were collapsing. She literally was slowly drowning to death in her own fluids. Before hospice she was legally blind in one eye, used a cane to walk and had a wheel chair on standby. And at 98 her episodes of paranoia could only be masked by her TEEEEEMPER.

Most girls get mad, but let me tell ya, a pissed off Spanish chick doesn’t have to hit you for you to feel pain. If given the option between annoyed Spanish female VS a pack of Rottweilers pick the dogs! At least when Cujo’s done with ya, your ass has a chance to heal.

Before we took her home she spent a week or so at Saint Joseph Hospital pissing off the nurses and offending doctors. I’d forgotten how effortlessly charming her sarcasm was – I doubt the hospital has. She blamed them for her weak state, bad leg, Bush’s reelection, you name it and at 98 everyone let her.

Sometimes you just know the truth is BS and going with the lie a bit longer is for the best – Kirk Deis said this.

We took her back to her one bedroom apartment. And for those of you still hung up if she had a drinking problem, well the day we left SHE made sure to find out from the doctor if she could get her drink on. And guess the eff what?! The doctor’s orders, “She can drink as much as she wants.” Pink Champagne and Brandy sales hit an all-time high when she made it back to her casa.

Although she had good days peppered here and there for the most part her symptoms got progressively worse. She was too weak to walk, too tired to get angry, she couldn’t even enjoy her freakin’ whiskey. I know, WTF kind of life is that? But she could talk. Then again she always could talk 🙂

We were near the end of April 2013 when it happened…

The days mirrored each other. During this time she’d tell me she could see three white Angels standing next to her bed. She told me she heard long lost relatives calling for her. She kept talking about a dog she had as a kid and asking me if we could take it outside and just play with it for an hour or two. She begged me to let her die.

The day finally came when my father asked me to stay the entire night. I wanted to say no but how could I? I just remember nodding my head a lot and really missing the one person I’ve ever REALLY missed — Janet.

Janet is my ex. Not my choice to give her this title, she left me at the start of 2013 but it’s not a competition. I don’t believe either of us won from the outcome. Anyway, I think it was two or three days after my Dads birthday Janet called a quits.

Soooo January 7th 2013… all I see is the year 2013.

Although I heard from Janet a few months ago (August-ish 2013) and thought in my best Pinkman voice, “FU 2013 we’re gonna make it biiiiitch!” That didn’t last. I shouldn’t be so surprised. 2013 has gotten the best of me in everything this year.

It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. Janet’s doing her thang as am I. I doubt she’s reading this — baaaaaabe if you are WTF are you doing yo?! Bust down my front door already 😉 I gave up the whores, drinking and partying – for me, not you. I don’t know how to give up on anything when it comes to you.

Enough ex-time, back on point…

The night my grandmother passed away I wasn’t alone. I’m not ashamed about this. Not anymore. You see every person has a limit. I hit mine monthly this year. And when you know shit is gonna go down and you’re able to detach YOU DO SO. And 2013 turned me into an expert at not dealing with shit. I have many vices but only one I ever loved. Don’t get me started on this sleeping bear. All I’ll say is no matter where I hide 2013 finds me.

Thing is… you can only hide so long before you find yourself visiting an ex’s bedroom (“sorry” I couldn’t resist Janet). But it’s true; hiding is just a slow way of stalling the inevitable. It’s a safe easy path to Nothing-Land.

It was late, maybe around ten at night.

My grandmother was stationed in her bedroom. I was making my way to the little boys’ room, glanced at her resting and kept going. This rush hit me so hard I literally stopped and pressed my hands on my knees to keep from falling.

I’ve never seen a dead person before but I instantly knew she was D.E.A.D. She finally found peace I couldn’t ever buy her at Target and noooo I never checked Walmart guys. I wasn’t the best grandson I guess.

This was one of the longest and loneliest nights of my life. I didn’t get home until around 5 AM (for those keeping track my shift would have started at 5 AM). I woke up my folks with a phone call and told them the news in my best calm man voice.

A lot of waiting around came next. Waiting for my parents to rescue their little boy. Waiting for Janet to show up. Waiting for my vices to kill me. Waiting for my grandmother to wake up. Waiting for 2013 to finally go away.

It was truly boring. For those who have ever been to prison you know what I mean. A lot of sitting around listening to filtered air settle with a buffet of bad food nearby to give you something to do as life escapes you.

Arrangements had already been made to pick up her body when it finally happened. And it was pretty straightforward. Nothing like the movies except for what you expect to hear, “I’m sorry for your loss…my condolences…you’ll get through this.”

No surprises. Everyone who wasn’t family said, “XYZ will happen.” And XYZ happened. Abuelita would have loved it. She was all for an organized mess.

Me… I just remember nodding a lot. I just remember missing the only person I’ve ever REALLY missed.

“Wait…How Does This Relate to Stories Kirk???”

Woooow way to kill the moment guys. Jeez. Okay. It has everything to do with STORY IDEAS.

Some of the best story ideas hurt like a mofo. They’re filled with love, potential and can be told a hundred different ways.

THE CATCH: Every Story Idea Has a Finite Lifespan.

You can’t expect them to be good every day. It takes work and even then miracles aren’t bad for their health. You have to give it time. Let it grow. Breakup with it. Hook up with it. Let it die. And see what happens.

Stories need to experience life and yes eventually stories need to pass on.

At some point you have to admit to yourself what you have in front of you. You realize this story isn’t perfect and that scares you but it’s yours. And you’re a fool if you don’t hold its hand and yes even embrace the LIES that got you there.

Every there is different for each of us but there is a there for everyone. – oh-la-la this is for sure a Kirkie quote.

OR you realize there’s nothing more you can do for the story idea. This is a tricky one.

For those suffering from “writers block” *Cough – BS Ego Trip find the cure here – cough* this is not an excuse to end a story. It’s more realizing all the parts of the story idea are there and have been told before. There’s nothing more it wants you to do for it. At this point you shelve it. In twenty some years you can share stories about it with your kids, but for now its magic chi has vanished.

After this experience I’m pro people having the option to decide when and how they want to die.

My grandmother suffered at the end. There’s no romantic way to say that so I won’t even try. And if you were expecting this piece to be one of those, “How great she was when she was alive bits” knock it off. We all know that story idea.

My advice for those stuck in the place of what “this should be” is simple. Repeat after me: “I won’t drag stories on forever. I won’t drag stories on forever. I won’t drag stories on forever.”

And while you’re at it don’t be one of those storytellers in love with your own words. Realize even the best of us have to say goodbye every now and then.

I know my grandmother is in a better place. I was with her at the end. Her body had become a prison that couldn’t even enjoy a salad at the buffet. I bleeping know she is in a better place. As for the only person I’ve ever REALLY missed… well that’s another story idea for another night.

I’ll cya when I do 2013.

Rule #38 If you keep having the same thought over and over again it means something. Don’t be scared to follow that idea to the end.


PS. Three Days Grace “Gone Forever” inspired the title of this pillow talk. It was playing while I wrote away. Click here and enjoy the tune.