And so it goes

Char took the kids out for dinner (which defeats the purpose of our having gotten a rental condo, specifically so we could cook for the kids and not stuff them full of more junk) in order to give me some time to myself. There's a pizza place just down the road with an arcade, so she whipped Kevin into an excited frenzy about it in order to get the other kids to not complain about it, told them I had a headache and they'd bring me a pizza later, and got them out without much fuss.

My phone rang this afternoon and I pulled off to the side of the ski run to see who it was, and almost shoved the phone back into my pocket because I knew what the news would be when I picked up. The kids were all well ahead of me and Char stopped long enough to see what was up, and followed them without question when she saw the look on my face. The call was from one of Tanner's boys; Kathy passed away this morning. She was only 48 years old, and as far as I know, had been perfectly healthy.

I think I'm numb. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing her or speaking to her again, but I don't like the idea that she's just not tucked away safely somewhere, reveling in her step-grandmotherhood.

We managed a couple more runs before Kevin's energy started to wear off, and I realized I was watching Alex ski ahead of us all more than I watched the other two kids. Not long after Kathy and I split, she had a very brief relationship with an old friend, got pregnant, and lost the baby at about 6 months. I was angry about it at the time; she hadn't wanted kids, yet there she was having one and happy about it. When she lost it, I was probably not as sympathetic as I could have been, but I did feel for her. She'd had a taste of realizing that things weren't always as cut and dried as they seemed, and that she did want motherhood as an option. I may have taken it personally for a while, realizing that she did want kids after all, just not with me, but I got over it quickly enough.

But I was watching Alex today and realzed that if she'd had that baby, he or she would be fifteen, almost sixteen.

That's been stuck in my head all afternoon. I could pick it apart to figure out why, but I'm not in the mood for much introspection. I just feel bad for her, and I feel bad for Tanner; I feel bad for Kathy's parents and brother, and yes, I feel a little bad for myself. We never had the marriage we both thought we would, but there was a time when I loved her and when she loved me, and all we wanted for each other, even in the end of our relationship, was the best.

I've also spent a lot of time this afternoon watching my wife; you know I adore this woman, and I wouldn't trade a moment of my life with her for anything. She is everything to me, and in my son's words, I'm "totally gay for her."

I wouldn't have any of this if sixteen years ago Kathy hadn't had the courage to admit that we were over, that we'd begun the ending of our relationship on a cold afternoon four years earlier, and that she just couldn't stay.

I wish she had gotten everything out of life that she wanted; I wish I hadn't been the cause of so much pain in her life, that I hadn't been the driving force behind some of her biggest terrors. I wish I had done better. I also wish she had been given a couple of dozen more years with Tanner and his kids.

No, I won't go to her funeral. It's more than the awkwardness that would inflict on her family; for one very specific reason she wouldn't want me there, and I respect that. I don't need to say goodbye, and I can wish her family well without being there. But I will miss the idea that she's out there somewhere, finally happy.

I am grateful she got that, though; she was happy, and she deserved that.