When I was eight years old, I used to think a lot about the U.S.S. Titanic. The ship was supposed to be unsinkable. That reputation gave the passengers and the crew a false sense of security, and they didn’t bring nearly enough lifeboats. The Titanic was damaged by collision with an iceberg and sank on her maiden voyage across the Atlantic.

Because there weren’t enough lifeboats, a lot of people died. Families were separated as men stayed behind and sent the women and children first. Some of the women chose to stay and die with their husbands rather than leave them for a chance to live. Some chose a quick death and jumped overboard, to escape from the horrible prospect of waiting.

Most of the passengers in second and third class, lacking access to the upper decks, were trapped. The water was cold.

Even as the ship was going down, there was a band playing on the deck. As the situation around them got worse, the band might have stopped playing music, but they didn’t. They knew they were going to die, and they spent the last moments of their lives making music for the people who were most likely also in the last moments of their lives.

In the middle of profound injustice, horrible goodbyes and separation, denial of reality, courageous generosity of giving up one’s own life for somebody else, there was music. There was music for as long as the music could go on.

The earth’s biosphere is in the middle of a sixth mass extinction. Some people think we should abandon ship. I worry that there won’t be enough life boats, there is no sure promise of rescue in the cold and dark, and that the lifeboats will only be there for a select few.

The finest people I know are fighting to repair the damage that’s been done, conserve whatever we can, take care of one other as the water is rising. They’re working on this every day.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this. When the ship appears to be sinking, be like the band that stayed behind and never stopped playing music. When the people around you are scared, in denial, losing faith, or just grieving the loss of that feeling that tomorrow was a promise. Stay, and offer whatever comfort you can.