Our brains are designed to get better at whatever we practice. This is neuroplasticity at work: the more we repeat a thought, emotion, or behavior, the stronger the neural pathways become. That’s why once we learn to crave something—whether it’s food, money, love, or recognition—we often want more. The brain’s reward system, driven by dopamine, reinforces this cycle, making us anticipate the next reward even more strongly than the last.

This is how greed emerges: a desire that goes beyond what is necessary. It’s not just about survival; it’s the hedonic treadmill—the tendency to adapt quickly to new rewards and then seek bigger ones to feel the same level of satisfaction.

The problem? Greed is not sustainable. Like cancer cells that grow without stopping and eventually kill their host, unchecked desire can damage relationships, communities, and even entire systems.

So what’s the antidote?

Psychology and contemplative traditions both point to letting go. Mindfulness practices, cognitive reframing, and self-reflection can weaken those reinforced pathways, teaching the brain that the “want” is not essential. Sometimes, unfortunately, trauma or loss breaks the cycle abruptly by forcing a reevaluation of what really matters.

Greed might be a natural byproduct of how our brains are wired, but it doesn’t have to run our lives. The question is: what triggers that feeling for you? Money, love, food, social life, media attention?

The loss of a child is a grief that defies expression. It is an amputation of the heart, a void that never fills, a wound that time refuses to heal. Society acknowledges this loss, but only in the immediate aftermath. Funerals are held, condolences are offered, and then the world moves on. But for the mother who has lost a part of her very soul, life is irrevocably altered. These mothers, bearing deep invisible scars, are among us.

Whether old or young, they may be teachers, doctors, cleaners, nurses, house wives, (fill in where you have found them) all the while embodying resilience and strength despite their concealed mourning.

Their endurance should not be mistaken for recovery, as losing a child means losing pieces of the future (their future selves as well) that will never materialize. This pain, integrated into their being, underscores the human spirit’s adaptability yet reminds us of life’s fragility and a mother’s profound love.

They are everywhere, these mothers with amputated hearts. By acknowledging their pain, we offer a silent nod of respect to their suffering and to the love that endures beyond death. Let us remember that in their quiet strength lies a profound lesson in humanity – a lesson of enduring love, resilience, and the unspoken bonds that connect us all in the face of unimaginable loss.¹

They Are Everywhere.

We Are Everywhere!

Nine months without my son Roger Cardoso
04/19/1989 – 06/10/2024

1. This text was crafted with the support of ChatGPT, and the image generated with DALL-E, both AIs developed by OpenAI. ︎

The stringent dissonance of seeing hearts and red and more hearts and red on Christmas Eve Day highlighted the superficiality our societal beliefs.

Christmas? What Christmas? It’s already December 24^th, let’s promote Valentine’s Day merchandise!

By the way I was able to find the wrapping paper at a discounted price, since on December 24^th, Christmas was already a past ghost. Lucky procrastinator! The brief moment of scoring big on the discounted wrapping paper distracted my thoughts but the hypermediated hearts and red visual-temporal dissonance coupled with the Christmas versus Valentine’s Day cultural idiosyncrasy immersed me back into my thoughts on how capitalism highjacked the true meaning of love and caring for others. (No, this is not a woke, socialist rant. Although I would love to have been eloquent and levelheaded enough to be one.)

Today, February 14, 2024, a little bit short of two months since my Christmas wrapping paper score against Valentine’s Day merchandise dissonance, again I ponder about love! The day of hearts and red feels out of place. The visual semiotic symbolism may be comforting and expected everywhere but now the stringent dissonance of war and hatred from personal to global events is splashed everywhere in the media, in radio, print, screen, social media. Not that I believe media is the culprit. Media is to me a reflection of what we as society look like. At minimum, what sells, and we want to see. (Again, the woke rant, get a life! Leave capitalism alone!)

Despite the abundance of hearts and red and “Happy valentine’s Day” shares, love doesn’t seem to be in fashion these days. This feeling is highlighted by the dissonance of the amount of hatred, discord, and differences shared by us all (guilty here too). Sadly, love feels like a long-lost friend, who we think of fondly and long for but don’t know how to rekindle the friendship.

From the little deck which I sit now writing these words, love feels like a private, unique, almost obscene experience we all feel among our own or in the privacy of our hearts but are unable, or discouraged to share with others besides hearts and reds. (Makes me think of how impersonal and superficial Instagram red hearts are, and yet, I am a sucker for them.)

Back to February 14, to me and my clan, Valentine’s Day changed its meaning completely in the year of 2022. It became a symbol of loss, the beginning of loss of love. On February 14, 2022, one of ours (my then super healthy and accomplished 32-year-old son) had a pulmonary embolism while driving from Maryland to New York. That on itself was a heartbreaking event since he could have died right then and there, but what came next showed us love in different form and color from the hearts and red.

The days following Valentine’s Day 2022 felt like a horror movie that would get even more terrifying from scene to scene. In a period of four days, each day, hour, minute would bring another blow of bad news: pulmonary embolism, maybe cancer, definitely cancer, metastasized cancer, surgery, too weak for surgery, test, tests and more tests. Chemo, surgery, radiation, pain were the most predominant words in our conversations following the diagnosis of testicular cancer yet, looking back, love; deep, meaningful, caring love, was the outcome that invaded us all! Love is what kept my son alive for 16 months after that dreadful Valentine’s Day. Love for life, family, work, and his newfound woman nourished him enough to endure the hell he went through. This is love, not the hearts and red!

Learning from my son’s experience, may love, real love, the one that moves mountains and pains, shorten the differences, has no ifs or buts and warm the heart be with us all, not just today, but starting today!

He has always done everything right, and yet, life has not spared him of hard times. But he keeps going, finding joy in his mellow manner, and while at it, saving lives

It is scary to think he and his colleagues get into burning buildings saving lives, but that’s what they do! They run to danger to save lives. True Heroes!

My baby!

The text below is from another mother who also lost her son to Testicular Cancer and since then has been relentless in creating TC Awareness. I use my pain to expand her voice and TC awareness in memory of our kids!

“Who would have thought that a painless testicular lump could be cancerous and spread throughout the body?? Certainly not us. Not in a million years would we have thought this could happen in our family. Not us, not cancer. Why weren’t there educational materials at the pediatric office? We should have been made aware about the most common cancer in young men ages 15-44 and the importance of monthly self exams?? When detected early, testicular cancer has over a 95% cure rate. Awareness and early detection are key!” Kim Jones

Today, we celebrate not just your birthday but also your strength, kindness, and unwavering support. You’ve been my rock through toughest times, including the heartbreaking loss of Ro. Your compassion and resilience have been a guiding light for me, helping me navigate through grief with love and understanding.

On this special day, I want to remind you of how much you mean to me and how grateful I am for your presence in my life. Our families lifes.

You’re an amazing husband, father, and baba! Here’s to you and the many more years of joy, laughter, and love ahead!

I love you!

#HappyBirthday#GratefulHeart#FamilyStrength

I was not there. I did not have the emotional strenght to let him go but she needed the closure. He is just dust in the wind now.

—-

A friend keeps reminding me we are just star dust. Poetic, if not the only reality.

#testicularcancerawareness

#vilomahmothers

#imissmyson

#claudiajacquesmc

The photo below is of when he was first diagnosed in February 2022.

I was converting academic references to APA in ChatGTP and in my pain decided to ask it the following below. I didn’t expect such a caring answer. Note that I am already doing all that is suggested:

I lost my 34 year old son to testicular cancer metastasized to the brain, meninges and spinal cord on June 10, 2023. I am in pain grieving his loss. Today is 6 months. How can I ago about without feeling so much pain?

ChatGPT’s answer:

I am deeply sorry for your loss. The pain of losing a child is one of the most profound forms of grief a person can experience. It’s natural and valid to feel an intense level of sorrow, especially on significant dates like the six-month anniversary of your son’s passing.

Coping with such a loss is a very personal process and can vary significantly from one person to another. Here are some suggestions that might help you as you navigate through your grief:

Allow Yourself to Grieve: Give yourself permission to feel the full range of emotions that come with grief. There’s no “right” way to feel, and there’s no timeline for when you should be “over it.”

Seek Support: This can come from friends, family, or support groups where you can share your feelings with others who have experienced similar losses. Speaking to a grief counselor or therapist can also be beneficial.

Create a Ritual: Some people find comfort in rituals, such as lighting a candle for their loved one, visiting their resting place, or engaging in an activity that was meaningful to them.

Memorialize Your Son: You might find solace in creating something in memory of your son, such as planting a garden, dedicating a bench in his favorite park, or starting a scholarship in his name.

Write: Expressing your feelings in a journal or writing letters to your son can be a way to process your emotions.

Self-Care: It can be easy to neglect your own needs when you’re grieving. Try to maintain routines that promote your physical and emotional well-being.

Professional Help: If you find that the pain is too much to bear alone, seeking the help of a psychologist or psychiatrist might be necessary. They can provide you with strategies to cope with your loss and support your healing process.

Give It Time: Grief can feel like a wound that won’t heal, but with time, the sharpness of the pain typically lessens. While you will never forget your son, the days should eventually become easier to bear.

Honor His Life: Focus on the love you shared and the time you had, rather than the loss. Celebrating his life and the person he was can be a way to keep his memory alive.

Connect with Others: Sometimes, helping others who are also in pain can bring a sense of purpose and relief from your own grief.

Remember, grief is not a linear process, and it’s common to have ups and downs. It’s okay to seek help and it’s okay to talk about your son and your feelings. Your pain is a testament to your love for him, and it’s important to treat yourself with the same kindness you would offer to someone else in your situation.