Til (insert date) Do Us Part

I am turning fifty-two. The same age my friend Barb was five years ago when she succumbed to cancer. And to think I had decided fifty-two wasn't a special birthday.

As uncomfortable and painful as life had become, Barb fought like hell to make it to fifty-two, but fell short by two months. She weathered a double mastectomy and botched reconstituted boobs and wildly aggressive metastasis, not to mention collateral pleasures like kidney failure and dialysis appointments and countless hospital stays for ailments of unknown origin. Still, through it all, she proclaimed herself to be blessed -- for all the life she had lived, for all the people she loved who were in it. As she told an intimate group gathered for the fiftieth birthday party she threw for herself, if she died tomorrow, she would die happy.

My most significant physical ailment right now is a big zit on my chin, yet if I died tomorrow, I think I'd be mad as hell. Not so much about the dying itself (although that certainly would piss me off) but about all my pesky little problems. Yes, including the zit. Well shame on me; enough of that shit. It's a gorgeous autumn morning, my kids are all healthy and thriving, I have great friends, and Manny managed to make it through an entire day yesterday without peeing or pooping in the house. Life is good. A little divorce nonsense in the grand scheme of things? Just another zit.

In fairness (to me), I'm not the only person to let divorce make my whole world seem miserable. In an effort to slow down divorce rates, the powers that be in Mexico City have proposed marriage contracts with time limits. Progressive countries like Iran already have these; there, you can agree to marry for as little as a few minutes. Cool. I love a short cocktail hour.

I wonder how many folks will give the new contracts a shot, stand up before their family and friends and promise to love and cherish each other for a couple of years. Kind of cuts into the romance a bit. Then again, the contracts would be renewable, so if the bride and groom are delusional enough to believe the loving and cherishing will last forever, what's the harm? I would feel kind of sad for all the unemployed matrimonial attorneys, but, wait, I'm over it.

I am pretty damn certain I will still be trapped in the vicious web of divorce tomorrow. Frankly, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning (twice!) than I am to be done with this mess. I am also pretty damn certain the zit on my chin will still be there -- if picking at it constantly is any indication. But everything else -- all the stuff that matters -- is pretty damn good.

Could I die happy tomorrow? Not a chance; I'm greedy, and I want a lot more of the good stuff. Could I die feeling grateful for everything I have? Yeah, that I can probably handle.