There’s a very sweet and sad story circulating in the media about Amy Krouse Rosenthal, a well-known Chicago author who was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2015. It doesn’t look good for Amy, a 51year old mother of three who was looking forward to the next act of her life with her husband of 26 years, now that their youngest child has gone off to college. In an essay for the New York Times Modern Love column last month, Amy set out to create a dating profile for her husband, Jason. She describes him as a handsome man, a sharp dresser, a dreamy, let’s-go-for-it travel companion, a man “easy to fall in love with”, as she herself did it in one day. Amy, who says she has days left on this planet at best, hopes that Jason “will find another love story.”

Jason WILL find another love story, let there be no doubt about it. A healthy, good-looking man in his fifties with means and no excess baggage is the hottest commodity on this planet since lithium. It is absolutely heartbreaking that he will lose his beloved wife, but Amy knows that he will find another companion – WANTS him to, even, and this is her way of exerting a teeny bit of control as she contemplates her own fate.

I get that. I went there myself lo these many years ago, although not as generously. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and going through treatment, I took it upon myself one night to make a list of the women John could NOT consider marrying in the event of my death.

“Here,” I said, handing him a sheet of paper.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It’s a list, obviously,” I replied. “You’re probably going to get married again eventually, and while I want you to be happy, there are some people I think you should steer clear of.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going anywhere.”
“We don’t know that for sure, and since we have two children, I think it’s wise to ensure that you don’t fall into the hands of some scheming harpy.”
“What makes you think I can’t figure that out myself?”
“Oh!” I said, “So you WILL get married again! I knew it!”
“What?” he said. “What are you talking about?”
“I bet you can’t wait! New wife, new life, right? Who is she? Do I know her? How long has this been going on? And here I am on my deathbed. Have you no shame?”
“You’re nuts. And besides, this list has only one name on it.”
“That’s right. She’s a known predator. Stay away from her.”
“She’s one of your good friends!”
“That’s irrelevant. She’ll move in like a shark. Don’t even consider it.”
“I’m NOT considering it!”
“You are now, just a little, aren’t you?”
“Go to sleep.”
“I’ll come back to haunt you. I swear I’ll find a way.”
“Goodnight. I love you.”
“Maybe today you do. But you’re thinking about your next wife now, aren’t you?”
“Shhh.”

Obviously, I did not die, and the shark ultimately moved on to more susceptible prey. I hope Amy’s husband finds another love story, and that she’s not a scheming harpy, but of course he’ll never find another Amy. That’s the way we roll.

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