You're dead now.
The kids, too, and their kids. The computer says three hundred years will have passed on Earth, even though it's only a couple months by ship's clock; you'll never read this, it's way too late. Plus there's no way to send it, not until we're almost to our destination and the ship turns around to begin the deceleration burn. So I guess I'm not writing this message for you, I'm writing it for me.
You wanted a divorce, because you had to go on with your life, and I understood, and I gave it to you, even though I was still the same man you married, the man you fell in love with. I wanted this shot, always had, more than anything else I've ever wanted, and I couldn't take you with me, and that hurt you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't give up my dream to give you yours.
And I'm sorry for leaving the kids. I hope they had long, happy lives, and families of their own, and didn't forget their crazy, selfish, astronaut dad.I'll never forget you. I Love you. I forgive you. I hope you forgave me, by the end.