I received a Facebook message from a friend of Mack’s today. Well, she sent it Wednesday, but I don’t get on Facebook much these days. It’s too much of a time suck. I’d rather be reading your blogs. But today the Facebook notifications popped up on my iPad, so I figured I’d see what I’d missed. If anything. Here’s what she wrote:

Hey [Unconfirmed Bachelorette] – [Mack] wanted me to let you know he just got out of the hospital after having a triple bypass this weekend. Hope all is well with you!

I was on my way out the door for a walk when I read it. It seemed like pretty good timing: I could get outside, get some fresh air, and consider how I felt about the news. But after an hour of pounding the pavement in the heat, I still wasn’t sure.

Thoughts I had:

• Why did he think I needed to know this?
• Do I need to know this?
• Thank god I broke up with  him.
• Would I have stayed out of guilt? Out of obligation?
• Thank god I broke up with him.
• I’m glad he’s OK.
• Huh. What do you know. I’m glad he’s OK.
• What if he had died?
• I think I’d be glad the pedophile died.
• I’m glad he’s OK.
• Thank god he didn’t have a heart attack when I took him hiking in Canada.
• Maybe he’ll get more blood flow to his cock, now.
• Maybe he’ll quit being such an asshole.
• Nah. He’ll keep being an asshole. He didn’t stop when he had a heart attack a few years back.
• Lucky for him we broke up. Otherwise Corinne and I would have been at the hospital together. Asshole.
• Why did he think I needed this information? What am I supposed to do with it? What does he want from me?
• A triple bypass. I wonder if he had another heart attack.
• What if I had married him? What if he turned into an invalid and I was married to an asshole invalid?
• Maybe he’ll stop drinking so much.
• I guess I’m not completely awful since I’m glad he’s OK.
• If he wasn’t such an angry asshole, he’d be healthier.
• My blood pressure was 109/73 when I went to the doctor this week. He asked me if I’d had any more bladder infections. “Not since I got rid of the asshole,” I said. Doctor writing notes in my chart: “I’ll clean it up a bit: No more bladder infections since partner out of the picture.”
• He must have been cheating on me. I’m an idiot to think otherwise.
• I wonder how he’ll pay for the medical care.
• Poor bastard.
• You know, there were some good times. It’s a shame he’s such an asshole.
• Don’t go getting all weak.
• Keep walking. Away.

At bottom, when I peek beneath my initial reaction, I feel sad. Sad he wasn’t who I thought he was. Sad he’s not the kind of man I want to be there for when he’s sick. Sad second chances are generally illusory. If I look beneath the hardness, I can find that place in my heart that still holds a piece of him. And I’m glad he’s OK.