As you know, Libby’s T-cell mandibular lymphoma first diagnosed and treated since last November 2017 is being stubborn. Her Pet scan was clear after chemo in February but immediately after 17 rounds of radiation has unfortunately returned. She has started a new treatment that is working to eradicate the disease. This website has been created to not only share her updates but also to be a support for others going through cancer battles and for all of those that want to share in her life journey. Based on her resilient parents Betty and Bill, the mantra of her brother Bill, who died of ALS at 43, and her cancer surviving sister’s Sheri and Lisa, the Sims Family philosophy is to “never give up,” always have hope and laugh a lot! Faith, Hope, and Love to all of you! In this life adventure, in the face of adversity, you must always try to see the bright side! We invite you to follow here and post your story but please do not post this website on social media. Thank you…
Caroline
Libby’s Life Notes 
Libby is such an inspiration to me! She is truly amazing!
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You are strong, your are courageous, you are coordinated, you are LIBBY!! loving and praying for you from Birmingham:)
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Thank you for sharing your positive message. Sending prayers for strength and healing. 🙏❤️
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Libby and Caroline, I don’t know 2 stronger, more positive people than the two of you!! I am with you in this journey in any way I can be and know my love is with you both!!
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Libby told me today about this site that means so much to her and to others. I am first cousin to Libby’s Carl and I was honored to teach Alex and watch him grow into a confident, talented young man. In 2006, I had ALL and really appreciated family and friend support. I might have recovered in part because I am a terrible mathematician. A good-looking doctor (opinion of Libby and me) told me sadly that he was able to save 1 out of 3 with my kind of leukemia. I said, “Hey, that’s better than 50/50!” Twelve later I am still here and feel great even as a septuagenarian!
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Carolyn,
Thank you for sharing a little of your story! I have not been keeping up with the comments on this blog site like I hope to later after I am admitted to Emory on February 20. You are such an inspiration to me Carl and Alex and all of those who know you! I’m sending love and hugs and happy that you are blessed to be 1 out of 3!! Xo Libby
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You are beautiful, but behind the facade is a tough old broad like your cousin Carolyn. You will be fine!!!
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Thanks for making this available as we are praying constantly and want to keep up.
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We are with you!!!!!!!!!!
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Dearest Libby, thank you for sharing your journey with us in NY. We will keep you ever constant in our prayers and I have you on our church group prayer list as well!
Your prayer warriors are raising you up for the fight! He’s got you!
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Ann,
It was great to see you and Steve in New York at your retirement party! I loved being invited to celebrate your amazing career! Thanks for the love and prayers! Xo
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Dear Libby, I am so glad you are journaling and sharing this journey with your many friends, and of course in Libby style …..encouraging everyone else along the way! You are such an inspiration and yes the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Prayers abound for you and everyone involved !!!!!
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Thank you Ann!! I am preparing for the “big adventure” starting on Feb 20th. I hope your retirement is going well and that you are enjoying your new life! I’m sure it is as busy but hope you are enjoying yourself!! Xoxo, Libby
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Libby, how are you sharing your journal? Or did I not understand Angela’s post Jan. 29?
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Oops, my original response was for my friend Ann Hillis that recently retired! Lol I’m working on getting the hang of this blog thing!
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Hello Dear Libby,
I’m so glad to have a way to stay in touch with you in spirit while you’re out of touch in body! I’m going to send poems to you. And blessings. And prayers. All in hope that you will know I’m thinking of you every day and loving you always. Here’s the prayer for today:
Gentle me,
Holy One,
into an unclenched moment,
a deep breath,
a letting go
of heavy experiences,
of shriveling anxieties
of dead certainties,
that, softened by the silence,
surrounded by the light,
and open to the mystery,
I may be found by wholeness,
upheld by the unfathomable,
entranced by the simple,
and filled with the joy
that is you.
—–Ted Loder
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Beautiful
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Ann, I am an avid fan of cousin Libby and an appreciator of all the beautiful poems you find. Thank you!
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Hi Lib
Here’s a poem:
As swimmers dare
to lie face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace,
Denise Levertov
Thinking about you all day. Love you, Ann
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LIBBY, I AM EUELANNE LIVINGSTON LIVINGSTONS MOTHER AND HAVE BEEN A FRIEND OF YOUR PARENTS FOR YEARS I CAN REMEMBER WHEN YOU AND YOUR SISTER HAD YOUR FIRST BOUTS WITH THIS MONSTER AND CAN ALSO REMEMBER HOW BRAVE BOTH OF YOU WERE. THE SIMS FAMILY HAVE BEEN AN INSPIRATION THROUGH THE YEARS. YOU ALL HAVE SUCH A WONDERFUL OUTLOOK ON LIFE AND YOUR FAITH HAS BEEN TESTED BUT ALL OF YOU HAVE , AND STILL DO, STAND FIRM IN IT AND IT WILL CONTINUE TO SUSTAIN YOU.LEON AND I ARE PRAYING FOR YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. MAY GOD GIVE YOU HIS PERFECT PEACE AND STRENGTH TO GO FORWARD.
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For My Young Friends Who Are Afraid
There is a country to cross you will
find in the corner of your eye, in
the quick slip of your foot – air far
down, a snap that might have caught.
And maybe for you, for me, a high passing
voice that finds its way by being
afraid. That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed. What you fear
will not go away: it will take you into
yourself and bless you and keep you.
That’s the world, and we all live there.
William Stafford, The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems
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Libby, We love you and are praying for a fast and successful recovery! Carolyn Auger and everyone at blackdog studio
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Good morning Libby,
I know you love the ocean, so here’s a thought:
New Religion
This morning no sound but the loud
breathing of the sea. Suppose that under
all that salt water lived the god
that humans have spent ten thousand years
trawling the heavens for.
We caught the wrong metaphor.
Real space is wet and underneath,
the church of shark and whale and cod.
The noise of those vast lungs
exhaling: the plain chanting of monk fish choirs.
Heaven’s not up but down, and hell
is to evaporate in the air. Salvation
is to drown and breathe
forever with the sea.
Bill Holm, The Chain Letter of the Soul: New and Selected Poems
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Truth in Advertising
If we’d moved her,
she’d still have ’em
the ad for Acme
Moving says, with a photo
of Venus de Milo.
But who, intact,
would Venus be?
Some standard-issue
ingenue. Give me
a woman who’s lived
a little, who’s wrapped
her arms around the ages
and come up lacking; that’s
the stone that can move me.
Andrea Cohen, from Kentucky Derby
Love you, Lib
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Howdy
Wondering how you’re doing. Been a long 3 days out here. Bet it’s been longer for you.
The Business of Crows
One of them has a discarded
half-pint milk carton
by its pinched top
and is banging it on the sidewalk.
Hopping with it dragging it along,
he hefts it with his beak.
and swings it against the concrete.
Then he pauses to inspect his work,
to adjust his grip before
picking up the carton
and smacking it down again.
Every time he hits the sidewalk
with the empty box
it makes a flat, satisfying plop.
Perhaps that’s all the crow wants,
the hollow report
he gets for his labor
confirming its emptiness.
As for me, I have stopped
on the way back to my office
to watch the crow’s involvement
with a milk carton. Sunlight,
filtering through bare trees,
stains the bird a dark blue
that slips to black
like secret ink and makes sense
only as his feathers move.
What could possibly be
more important than this?
I have no further excuses.
Joseph Green, from What Water Does at a Time Like This
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Wishing all your cells well this morning. Sending love, too.
Watching Sand Hill Cranes
Spirits among us have departed – friends,
relatives, neighbors: we can’t find them.
If we search and call, the sky merely waits.
Then some day here come the cranes
planing in from cloud or mist – sharp,
lonely spears, awkwardly graceful.
They reach for the land; they stalk
the ploughed fields, not letting us near,
not quite our own, not quite the world’s.
People go by and pull over to watch. They
peer and point and wonder. It is because
these travelers, these far wanderers
plane down and yearn in a reaching
flight. They extend our life,
piercing through space to reappear
quietly, undeniably, where we are.
William Stafford, from Even in Quiet Places
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Hey Libby
Big day tomorrow. Hope everything is set up and ready to go. You have many fans pulling for you. Especially me.
Walking Beside a Creek
Walking beside a creek
in December, the black ice
windy with leaves,
you can feel the great joy
of the trees, their coats
thrown open like drunken men,
the lifeblood thudding
in their tight, wet boots.
Ted Kooser, from Flying at Night
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Today – all day – on my mind and in my heart, dear Libby.
…Don’t believe in the reality of good and bad experiences;
They are like rainbows.
…All is yours already.
Don’t search any further.
Don’t go into the inextricable jungle looking for the elephant
who is already quietly at home.
Nothing to do,
nothing to force,
nothing to want,
—-and everything happens by itself.
Venerable Lama Gendun Rinpoche
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Libby,
I have been sending positive thoughts and prayers your way! You are such an amazing woman and a role model for me! Know that I am pulling for your speedy recovery!
Donna Childs
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Oh, my sweet, sweet dear Libby! I am just today learning about all of this and am sending so much love and positive thoughts your way. You are one amazing and brave woman and I am so glad to call you my friend. I am raising my cup of tea to you right now and know you will get through this tribulation with grace and strength. Love you tons, my friend. Jane
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Praying for you Libby!!!
Much Love,
Jack and Laura
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I just received a text from you and man! does that make me happy! I hope you just feel better and better every day, my friend.
Looking
What was I looking for today?
All that poking under the rugs,
peering under the lamps and chairs,
or going from room to room that way,
forever up and down the stairs
like someone stupid with sleep or drugs
everywhere I turned was wrong.
I started turning the drawers out, then
I was staring in at the icebox door
wondering what I was looking for.
Later on, I think I went back again.
Where did the rest of the time go?
Was I down in the cellar? I can’t recall
finding the light switch, or the last
place I’ve had it or how I’d know
I didn’t look at it and go past.
Or whether it’s what I wanted, at all.
W. D. Snodgrass, from Selected Poems: 1957-1987
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Good Morning, Missy Libby. This poem reminds me of you.
Optimism
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam returns
over and over to the same shape, but the sinuous tenacity of a tree:
finding the light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another.
A blind intelligence true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers,
mitochondria, figs –
all this resinous unretractable earth.
Jane Hirshfield, from Given Sugar, Given Salt
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Wow, yes, this is a great one! Thanks Ann. I am honored it reminds me of you!
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Libby, I am overwhelmed by your courage and beauty, now more than ever. Our paths have not crossed recently but I’m glad to be here following your progress (Carl will be glad too since I’m sure he’s getting so many inquiring messages). You are an inspiration and I’m keeping you in my prayers daily. I have a wonderful Sunday School class that are prayer warriors and they will whisper your name to God too. Every Cell is Well, I believe it!!
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Thank you sweet Darlene! I appreciate you keeping me in your prayers! Yes, God is fighting this fight for me and I believe that every cell is well! Hope to see you soon! Xo
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Bird conversations are beginning to hold forth in the mornings and all day and into the evenings. So here:
I Pray to the Birds
I pray to the birds.
I pray to the birds because I believe
they will carry the messages of my heart upward.
I pray to them because I believe in their existence,
the way their songs begin and end each day –
the invocations and benedictions of earth.
I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love
rather than what I fear.
And at the end of my prayers,
they teach me how to listen.
Terry Tempest Williams
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I miss hearing the birds outside. Thanks for bringing them in to me. My brother Bill talks to me through many different types of birds. Cardinals, yellow finches, the Pileated woodpecker, the great horned owl, the Golden Eagle and the Hawk. I miss him!
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Weathering
My face catches the wind
From the snow line
And flushes with a flush
That will never wholly settle.
Well, that was a metropolitan vanity,
Wanting to pass.
I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty
And only pretty enough to be seen
With a man who wanted to be seen
With a passable woman.
But now that I am in love
With a place that doesn’t care
How I look and if I am happy,
Happy is how I look and that’s all.
My hair will grow grey in any case,
My nails chip and flake,
My waist thicken, and the years
Work all their usual changes.
If my face is to be weather beaten as well
It’s little enough lost
For a year among the lakes and vales
Where simply to look out my window at the high pass
Makes me indifferent to mirrors
And to what my soul may wear
Over its new complexion.
Fleur Adcock
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Thinking of you on this Sunday morning. Hope you’re feeling stronger every day. Love you always and forever, dear Lib
The World is Charged with the Grandeur of God
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is smeared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell; the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
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Ann, this and all the poems before this one are beautiful and inspiring and uplifting. Thanks for your constant love. Xo Libby
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One of my favorite poems here. Thanks, Ann, for sharing with Libby and her followers.
Carolyn Haldeman
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Here’s a poem for your brother Bill, and my sister Donna, and all those who pass through our lives but never leave us:
For What Binds Us
There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they’ve been set down –
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.
And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong than the simple, untested surface before.
There’s a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,
as all flesh is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest –
and when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.
Jane Hirshfield, from Of Gravity and Angels
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Hope yer cells ‘re gettin’ well! Becky Butler gave me this poem a loooonng time ago.
Famous
The river is famous to the fish.
The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.
The cat on the fence is famous to the bird
watching him from the birdhouse.
The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.
The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.
The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.
The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.
I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.
I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.
I don’t know the author, but it’s a good poem…
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Good morning, Friend Libby. To look outside, you’d think it was spring – but it’s 29 degrees! Brrrrr!
The Real Work
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
Wendell Berry, from Standing by Words
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The Real Work
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
Wendell Berry, from Standing by Words
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Places I Have Heard the Ocean
In a cat’s throat, in a shell I hold
to my ear, though I’m told
this is the sound of my own
blood. I have heard the ocean
in the city: cars against
the beach of our street. Or in
the subway, waiting for a train
that carries me like a current.
In my bed: place of high and low
tide or in my daughter’s skates,
rolling over the sidewalk.
Ocean in the trees when they
fill their heads with wind.
Ocean in the rise and fall:
lungs of everyone I love.
Faith Shearin, from Moving the Piano
Thinking of you every 20 minutes, Love
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Oz and I were so happy to get your progress update. How in the world are you riding 13 miles on a stationary bike?! Makes me want to take a nap just thinking about it!
Keep the faith, Lib!♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️
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Libby, I always was and still am in awe of your talents, wit, grace and beauty. God has a plan for you once this cancer is beaten. And you will beat it! Never give up, which I know is not on your DNA!
Continued prayers lifting you up every day and always. Xoxo
Wendy McGee
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Dogs are the best people!
Dharma
The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her dog house
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with silky admiration.
Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance –
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Ghandi with his staff and his holy diapers?
Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.
If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning and eat all of his food
what a model of self-containment she would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.
Billy Collins, from Sailing Alone Around the Room
I hope this is a good day for you, good Friend!
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My Lib; my role model; my pal; Oz’s Decorator,
Here is another poem that calls to mind your resilient spirit:
The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face,
no charming smile no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love
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A Short Testament
Whatever harm I may have done
In all my life in all your wide creation
If I cannot repair it
I beg you to repair it.
And then there are all the wounded
The poor the deaf the lonely and the old
Whom I have roughly dismissed
As if I were not one of them.
Where I have wronged them by it
And cannot make
Amends I ask you
To comfort them to overflowing.
And where there are lives I may have withered around me,
Or lives of strangers far and near
That I’ve destroyed in blind complicity,
And if I cannot find them
Or have no way to serve them,
Remember them. I beg you to remember them
When winter is over
And all your unimaginable promises
Burst into song on death’s bare branches.
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Your latest journal entry indicates the road may be getting rough over there; as if it were a picnic in the first place…I’m so sorry to hear about fainting and nausea and headaches and other worries. I think you must feel pretty awful. Hopefully this week will move things along with that graft business. I do hope for better days ahead, dear one. Meanwhile:
Say It
Say that it is the continuous life
you desire, that one day might stretch into
the next without a seam, without seeming
to move one minute away from the past
or that in passing through whatever comes
you keep coming to the faces you love,
never leaving them entirely behind.
Say that it is simply a wish to waste
time forever, lingering with the friends
you’ve gathered together, a gradual
illumination traveling the spine,
eyes brimming with the moment that is now.
Say that it is the impulse of the soul
to endure forever. Say it again.
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What Followed Your Birth
You might not like being reminded
of your birthday, Father said,
but your mother and I do. Your
birth was a happy occasion.
What followed was both good
and bad. That was to be expected,
but what we didn’t expect was
that you’d be the last of your friends
to get a job, which you still haven’t
gotten yet. It just took you longer
to get started. You had to go back
to school. That wouldn’t have been so bad
if you were learning something, but
after all these years to still not know
what you want for a present doesn’t
speak well for education.
Hal Sirowitz, from Father Said
ALL CELLS WELL, MISSY LIBBY! ALL CELLS WELL!
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The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Wendell Berry
Blessings.
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Psalm 23
The Lord to me a shepherd is,
want therefore shall not I:
He in the folds of tender grass,
doth cause me down to lie:
To waters calm me gently leads
restore my soul doth he:
He doth in paths of righteousness
for his name’s sake lead me.
Yea, though in valley of death’s shade
I walk, none ill I’ll fear:
Because thou art with me, they rod,
and staff my comfort are.
For me a table thou hast spread,
in presence of my foes:
Thou dost anoint my head with oil;
my cup it overflows.
Goodness and mercy surely shall
all my days follow me:
And in the Lord’s house I shall dwell
so long as days shall be.
from The Bay Psalm Book
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This is It
and I am It
and You are It
and so is
That
and He is It
and She is It
and It is It
and That is That
O It is This
and It is Thus
and It is Them
And It is Us
and It is Now
and here It is
and here We are
so This is It.
James Broughton
We’re so happy for you Libby!
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Libby, I just heard of your cancer challenge. From one survivor to another, keep positive and let your mantra be “courage every day”. Prayers and positive thoughts coming your way.
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Libby, I did not know of your about your fight. I think the world of you! You have always exhibited such grace. I send healing, positive energy your way and a big ole HUG! You are now on my positive energy thought list! If you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to reach out to me.
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Hello Libby Libby,
Here is poem from an anthology entitled Dancing with Joy:
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper, I mean –
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down –
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Mary Oliver
I hope your transition period back to your own home is going as happily as possible. How fortunate to have your Aunt and Uncle to hide you out for a while! Blessings on all of you every day and every minute! Love
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Ecstasy
For years it was in sex and I thought
This was the most of it
so brief
a moment
or two of transport out of oneself
or
in music which lasted longer and filled me
with the exquisite wrenching agony
of the blues
and now it is equally
transitory and obscure as I sit in my broken
chair that cats have shredded
by the stove on a winter night with wind and snow
howling outside and I imagine
the whole world at peace
at peace
and everyone comfortable and warm
the great pain assuaged
a moment
of the most shining and singular gratification.
Hayden Carruth
Wishing you peace and rest and comfort. Love you Ann
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Here you go Turtle Head Patrick: One of my all time favorite poems; it makes me laugh as well as tear up every time I read it.
Turtle
Who would be a turtle who could help it?
A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared helmet,
she can ill afford the chances she must take
in rowing toward the grasses she eats.
Her track is graceless, like dragging
a packing case places, and almost any slope
defeats her modest hopes. Even being practical,
she’s often stuck up to the axle on her way
to something edible. With everything optimal,
she skirts the ditch which would convert
her shell into a serving dish. She lives
below luck-level, never imagining some lottery
will change her load of pottery to wings.
Her only levity is patience,
the sport of truly chastened things.
Kay Ryan, from The Best of It: New and Selected Poems
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