kiwords

So I was…down, I guess. Just a little sad, and Dad was worried about me. He stood in the kitchen while I made dinner and asked me if I was ok.
“Yes,” I said, perhaps a bit too firmly.
“Do you get lonely?” he persisted. I stared at the counter, hard. I don’t like to cry in front of my dad.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Well, I’m not surprised.”
Awkward silence. Finally, I pushed off from where I was standing at the counter, and headed to the fridge. I started pulling out whatever it was we were having for dinner.
“You know, I think part of it is the boys’ birthdays. It’s hard, celebrating them. You know. Without him.” I was in motion now, chopping peppers and flinging them in a bowl. “You know, he’s never celebrated Raphael’s birthday? NEVER.” And I was off on the spiel I’ve done before, the one about my ex, how hard it is to see the boys hurt for him. How unfair and maddening it is to have him be out there, not making things right.
It was all true, yet not somehow.
I mean, it is hard, and I do get angry, but the accusations didn’t feel quite sincere. I felt like I was rehearsing my lines in a play. An old play.
Later I thought about it, about how strange and somehow dishonest it felt to list his wrongs again in that moment.
I was using that old pain as an excuse. It was protection of sorts from feeling today.
In the days after he left, I remember vowing to someone (maybe everyone) that I would not become a person whose life was ruled by bitterness. I would not become the ex wife who answered every “How are you?” with a snarl of, “Do you KNOW what my ex did?” And I worked at that. I talked about what I was dealing with; I tried to be fair to him. And I did my best to just plain shut up sometimes. Whatever I did right or wrong, I did my best to tell the truth.
Now I’m at another crossroads. Life has dips, times where - for whatever reason - the joy in my chest stills for a bit. Although it feels comfortable and tidy to place that at his feet, there are things in this world that are actually not his fault.
Now I choose. Do I want to be that angry ex wife or not?
I think…not.