Done

Her email subject was simple:  Done.

The words in the body of the message were clear, inarguable, heartbreaking:

I had scans on Monday.  The cancer has spread to my lungs, liver and bones.  Other than the possibility of getting me into a trial, there won't be any further treatments.
Thank you for your love and support.  I could not have done this without you.
Libby

No arguments from me this time. Only tears, the day the message came in, and again every time I see them again in my mind's eye, which is often.

October has come in this year with a cold blast of rainy weather. In the last two weeks, we've gotten enough rainfall to make up for the rains we didn't get all summer. 

A huge climate report came out last week. If we don't take our heads out of the sand, and do it yesterday, the balance will tip, and coastal areas around the world will disappear. A hurricane blew out of nowhere last week, wreaking havoc on the Florida panhandle, and dumping a torrent of rain on the Carolinas, already ravaged by last month's hurricane.

Where is Good in all this? As I rail against God and the fates in my anger and grief at the finality of Libby's words, at the dark days ahead for the people of our planet, I keep hearing a small voice.  

Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. All things living - ants and stars, people, planets and flowers - all things living will one day die. Today. Today is the only day each of us has.When you remember to look for Good in her hours, you will find it there.

I tried to heed the voice. I can't find Good anywhere in the force of the hurricanes, they're too vast, too far beyond what I can affect today, but if I look closer to home, to the places I can touch and the people I love, I can find it.

Instead of lamenting the tomorrows which may or may not come, I decided to enjoy the today I have.

I went outside this afternoon. The air was cool, the sun peeping out now and again. The rain has revived the plants in my yard. The grass is a healthy green, the flowers are blooming, quick counterpoints of color against the cloud cover. I pulled up the tomato plants, thanking them for their bounty of this past month. I mowed the grass. I stopped to admire a monarch butterfly, eagerly drinking from the garden's flowers.

Libby's decision to continue chemo last year bought her a year and more of mostly good days. Not enough days, but good days. (Are there ever enough days when facing death before one's children are grown?  I think not.)  I know she's lived those days looking for Good and Beauty - and finding them when she looked.

So many questions, so few answers. But one deep and abiding conviction:  When I remember to look, I will find Good - even, and especially, on the darkest of days.