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!

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

The world is in so much pain and grief over the recent losses, I almost feel guilty sharing mine.

I miss this character

#vilomahmothers

#imissmyson

#claudiajacquesmc

#fuckcancer

Actually, the feeling that is new and harder to control is sadness. Joy, happiness and even anger I am very much acquaint with, but not sadness. This deep, sneaky pain in the heart that comes from nowhere and in the most weird places and situations.

Today I was sitting at the dentist reception area waiting to have a root canal treatment when this young mother came in accompanied by her young teen son. They were exchanging cell phone memes and laughing between themselves. Their little loving and fun exchange was so familiar to me!

I too shared that with my boys. And 20 years ago I was there, in the same waiting room, having fun with my teen boys. At this point, the tears started to come down and I could not stop. I was sobbing.

All I managed to do was ask the mother if I could give her something and I gave her a Testicular Cancer Awareness “Touch Yourself” card. The thought of that sweet mother loosing her boy was unbearable to me. Made me sob even harder. I hid in the bathroom after.

You see, I went to the dentist without my psychiatric service dog, Leroy, and I was there sobbing my life away. I’m still so raw! I can’t go out alone. Leroy would have refocus my attention, and taken me outside before I got so raw. I came out of the bathroom.

The receptionists were thinking I was in tears in fear of the root canal treatment but I didn’t bother to correct them. I’m fine with my mental health being off, admitting sadness is a lot harder to confront.

I managed to compose myself. Although while at the dentist chair, with a lot of local anesthesia and drills in mouth I could not stop thinking of the brutality of the dental work I was having. This lead me to remember that my poor son endured brain and body surgeries and all sorts of the most brutal and invasive treatments just to stay with us a little bit longer. As my brain was scanning through my son’s ordeals, I seemed to be making different faces and noises because the dentist asked me several times if I was in pain.

Yes, I was in excruciating pain but not from the treatment but from the thoughts I was having. Again, sad, sad feelings and painful memories. I guess the dentist being around Roger’s age didn’t help either.

After the dentist finished, I shared with him what was going on with me and why the faces and noises. I also gave him some “Touch Yourself” cards. A few minutes later he came back to tell me that he was tearing up and commiserated with me. So there I was sharing sadness with this kind young human. And now, again here, but if I don’t put it out, I feel I will stop breathing.

I may also be arrested for handing out cards to strangers suggesting boys and young men should touch themselves.

https://www.testicularcancerawarenessfoundation.org/

She came home without her young. The irony of pandemic times when mothers and children may be choosing not to be together in the name of love. Nine months of expectations, hopes, fears and worries. Just the latter came true. Pain!

She came home without her young. Congenital, genetic, syndrome, prognostic, treatment, future, fear, pain, sadness. All she wants is hold her young. Feed him with warm milk and love. Sadness!

She came home without her young. She has tested positive. She can’t hold him. She shouldn’t hold him. But time warped into a hollow now. This moment is all she has. She wants to hold him. Emptiness!

She came home without her young. He arrived earlier just in time for Mother’s Day. The future is bleak. The now is too bleak. How can she celebrate? Anger!

She came home without her young. It’s pandemic times. Her mother can’t hold her either. Ease her pain. Comfort her sadness. Fill her heart with hope. Assure she and her young will be OK for this first Mother’s Day. Love!

The days when we were a unit and staying apart seemed impossible, shifted to the rare occasions when we get to be a unit again for a short period of time.

Even though I appreciate the present; I long for the past, when we didn’t have to live apart, separated by distance, by everyday life, experiencing everyday losses.

Homeopathic losses, that happen everyday, several times a day; that over time have been accumulating and changing how we relate to each other and reality: life. Distance does that! Distance in space, distance in time, distance in reality, distance in death. They all amount to losses, everyday homeopathic losses and longings.

It is like taking a trip to your favorite place. You know the destiny is worth the ride. Yet all the roads are complex, tortuous, scary, painful and fun! The imprint of the trip is all over my body: on each silvery strain of hair; each long, deep, line on my face.

I have enjoyed every minute of his path: from the miracle of developing a life inside of me; to the craziness of giving birth; the unknown of figuring out a newborn; the magical moments of seeing my baby discover and explore the world as a child; the weird asynchronicity of teenage years where body, mind and emotions not necessary developed at the same time and with the same speed; the need to give space and learn to let go for the young adult to discover himself, and now as an adult teaching me to trust, rely, embrace and enjoy him as a best friend. Every phase has been unique and special but they all have been wonderful because of him! I would do it over, and over, and over again!