I have to say I'm really humbled to suddenly see this on the front page. Today was a particularly hard day; I won't go into details but taking care of a permanently disabled invalid involves a lot of ups and downs and some fairly messy manual labor to keep them comfortable and in good shape.
I love you all. Hug your kids if you have em.
EDIT:
The above blog post here was one of three things I wrote in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy to try to process my feelings and exorcise my dark thoughts. I have two more which you can find below:
My son has a severe intellectual disability, he's non verbal, still wears diapers (age 12), and requires assistance in almost every aspect of his life. I still remember the day we received his diagnosis 9 years ago. The word "devastating" can only describe a small part of what we felt. Today, I consider him a gift from God. He made everything fall into perspective. His purity and unconditional love brings us tremendous joy, even though the physical and mental aspects of caring for him can be tiresome sometimes.
I know how it feels when calamity hits. It's ugly. But with, time it gets easier. Hang in there, and know that you're not alone.
Hey Lars. Thanks for sharing your story, so many of us are in a similar situations but dealing with it in isolation. After more than a decade of being a carer I can offer you the following:
Take care of yourself and your partner. Get some outside help if you can so you can take some breaks.
Find things that bring you joy, treat yourself.
Try and help your daughters process things and come away better people for the experience.
Treat your son with love and dignity.
Find some things in your life to be grateful for and dwell on them, it is impossible to feel sorrow and gratitude at the same time.
> it is impossible to feel sorrow and gratitude at the same time.
This is very much the opposite of my experience. Being grateful even for the losses that have brought the most sorrow, the two things at the very same time, has ripped me apart, but it's also been the only way through.
ETA: I say this not to contradict you or deny your experience. I say it in case other people are thinking their experience might need to include both, so they're encouraged to realize that, for some people, it's not impossible, but necessary.
> Find some things in your life to be grateful for and dwell on them, it is impossible to feel sorrow and gratitude at the same time.
Any advice on how to do this one. Recently I have been Noticing how no matter how many Good things I do in a year once they’re over they don’t really bring positive feelings the same way that the bad things pop up and make them selves dwelled upon.
I appreciate that your post is thoughtful and has good intentions, but can i suggest not telling people how they can or cannot feel, or what they should or shouldn’t do?
(hah. putting myself into this basket for a second and acknowledging this comment)
emotions are complex.
you can show compassion and empathy without instruction?
> it is impossible to feel sorrow and gratitude at the same time.
I would’ve said this too, until 12 months ago. I lost my dog suddenly. And then some weeks and months later I started to feel her presence running up alongside me when I would walk in our familiar places.
In those moments I felt elation in her presence and also utter despair in her loss all at once.
It was a strange experience but also clear as day.
Thank you for sharing this. I've been going though it for over a decade and I rarely talk about it. I'm almost ashamed of it for reasons that I don't think I can put into words right now.
But I feel so isolated sometimes. Physically because it's so hard for us to go out, and mentally because if I share the details with 'ordinary' people it just tends to alienate them. People want to hear about softball tournaments and class plays, not feeding tubes and adult sized diapers. It's important for me to remember that I'm not uniquely cursed in having to deal with this.
I have seen many people like you respond here, but I felt a need to talk to you. I have a different story. I have convinced 2 partners over my younger life to have abortions. I was young and stupid. I thought life would continue in the grandest way it seemed then, and got caught off guard and was terrified. I have since had 2 children, and the sorrow and devastation of my past choices now haunts me. The love I lost. Not getting to hold and care for them.
You might say "get over it and stop feeling bad - you have something good," and I know I do, but the past hangs over me like a never-ending storm. How can I ever forgive myself for what I did? The thought of them safe in their mother's wombs and being ripped out...I can hardly bear it. I carry this pain daily. I have since learned that having kids is the best thing that ever happened to me. It taught me how to love in a way I hadn't ever before. Having this knowledge makes the past even harder to accept. Who would those unborn have been today? What would they have taught me? How can I be a caring person to have done this?
I can't say I can relate to your situation, so please forgive any apparent glibness, but I would gladly sign up to go through what a lot of people here have done for their children with special needs just to have the chance to have known them. It may sound easy for me to say, but be glad you didn't make my choices. If someone else reads this who did, please know that there is also a part of me that realizes I thought things would be different, and I went on the information I had, which was bad. I'm not at all judging you. You did the best you could. Despite me sounding self condemning, I'm just very regretful that I didn't make a different choice.
All this to say: I hope you find a little more validation from my story that you are on a good path, and that you are not cursed, but rather have a gift. It's a gift I chose to throw away. It sounds like it's hard to manage at times but it's very much a gift. I know that sounds dismissive and cheesy, like everything everyone would say because it sounds good and doesn't acknowledge the real sacrifices you've had to make in comparison to friends who don't understand, but I want you to know that I truly mean it, and I understand, maybe unlike others who say it, what it really means, because I look at you and want so badly what you have, if it meant having all my children alive in my life. Your child taught you how to love - deeper and more alive than anything else possibly could have. It may seem like life/God used force to shape you like this, but I'm learning that's the only way it can work sometimes. You have to get to a point where you are willing to see it differently, and God will find a way to show you that. Maybe your child's presence forced you to make a choice to break through your own ego and be willing to love them. If so, it no doubt transformed you. Learning that is the greatest lesson life can teach. You are on a good path. It won't be evident for a time, but you absolutely are. I send you my best.
I lost my 21 year old brother in law to leukemia a few years back. Even though I didn't experience the same severity of pain as my wife or in-laws, I was still there through all of it. I saw my parents-in-law taking care of their dying son, who only a few months ago was a promising ornithology student, and the fittest player on his soccer team. What you wrote resonates a lot with what they said, and what I saw them go through.
Thank you for including the reference to Daniel 3, it has been a source of strength for my in-laws too. My brother-in-law got a lot of his strength from Philippians 1:21 "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
The love and care that you provide to your son does not go unnoticed or unseen.
One thing I learned from my in-laws' tragedy, was that the grief never goes away, but you will grow stronger in dealing with it.
I will be hugging my own kids extra-hard when I get home from work this afternoon.
> One thing I learned from my in-laws' tragedy, was that the grief never goes away, but you will grow stronger in dealing with it.
Picture your life as a a big, clear ball. When the grief first happens, it's like a giant, dark ball suddenly fills up the entire ball. There's nothing else. Everything is pain. Everything is grief.
People think the dark ball is meant to shrink over time, but in my experience, that's not it at all. What happens instead is that, slowly but surely, the clear ball gets bigger.
Eventually, not every moment is grief. Not every moment is pain. It's still there. It's never smaller. It never actually even hurts less. But you grow around it.
Losing someone to death is like if a color suddenly disappeared from your whole world. Let's use yellow. You've encountered so much of your life with this yellow in it. The more closely things were associated with this person,the yellower they are--and the more wrong they look now that yellow is gone.
Over time, you get used to the way they look, but you never really forget how they looked back when they were yellow. They're not as beautiful now.
But then there are other things that you encounter that haven't ever been yellow, places that person never went or things they were never a part of. You can imagine how much more beautiful they would be if they did have yellow, but they don't look wrong to you without yellow. They just look how they look, and that's the way you expect them to be beautiful.
I don't know if these images are helpful to anyone else, but they've made a big difference to me on my own grief journey, and since today would have been my sister's birthday, I thought I'd share them.
I couldn't bear to finish reading your story, for which I apologize. Our son is physically and developmentally disabled and though not at all near the level of yours, he will probably require assistance for the rest of his life. I will think about your family and story often, and may God keep you all, especially your beautiful little boy.
Agree that this is very heavy. I appreciate OP's vulnerability. I've got little ones and I need to read this; I just can't right now. I'll be glad do donate to OP if that's what we're doing.
This is an amazing writeup. I have lived the past 10 years in a situation with many parallels to yours, and at the same time unimaginably different.
When you say "It's not hard" you hit on one of the things I've always found difficulty to tell people. It's not hard, because it's the only thing to do. That certainty means it's painful, tiring, and many other things; but not hard.
My experience is that it only becomes really hard when you contemplate alternatives, imagine things being different, or daydream of a different life.
> contemplate alternatives, imagine things being different, or daydream of a different life
I lost my mother over 23 years ago, and one of the the hardest things for the longest while was anytime I would travel somewhere amazing, whether a city or country or the top of a mountain, knowing I'm seeing something she never saw, but might have, and what a kick she'd get out of it. It's always been in the back of my mind.
Now the hardest thing is realizing she'll never know her granddaughter, and vice-versa. Not to mention how much my daughter looks like her. But that's also a beautiful reminder of the cyclical nature of life and all its seasons.
Isn't it hard to do though? I fear I may be a monster for thinking this, but is the pain of the son and yourself worth it?
Meaning, is all this being done for some hope that the miracle pulls through? What if you knew with absolute certainty there was no recover and no brain activity, only pain.
So this is hard if you have a choice, what is the right choice?
I also had a bit of an annus horribilis last year, and ended up taking almost a year off of blogging out of a sense of embarrassment and shame. I wanted to thank you for having the courage to write this and share the work through which you have been processing everything. It really would have helped to see all of this writing about 10 months ago, so I am glad it is here for everyone else and for my own inevitable next time at "rock bottom."
I also wanted to encourage you to keep going with your creative work, because I know it can really help fathom the depths of your mind in a way that "logical" thought really can't. For me, it was playing the piano and writing some (bad) compositions. You write very well, and I hope it brings you some clarity and relief.
Thank you and my best wishes to you and your family.
Lars from what I've read you seem like a very strong and capable person. A lot of success, great relationships and a beautiful family. When you get to this point in life there frankly isn't much left to learn or to grow. You are the kind of soul destined to go even further. It's a brutal harsh beautiful reality. It will test and grow your faith to heights and depths that will astound. You have and will continue through this with whatever it takes. I lost my 15 year old daughter a year and a half ago. It's not the same as your circumstance but I'm sure you'll be ok. PM me if you want to talk.
This. I'm in a much less tragic situation with an intellectually disabled kid. After all the struggles to diagnose, potentially treat, and finally accept his - our - fate, the whole ordeal ended abruptly with this very same sentence. I am at peace now taking care of my kid.
And to anyone who feels like telling me what a bad person I am for drawing the line in a slightly different place than you do on Euthanasia — go read Four Magic Words before you post something glib assuming you know anything about my reasoning and motivations.
Go ahead and have a reasoned debate about euthanasia if you want — I’ve never subscribed to “the person who is suffering the most this second gets to be right about everything.”
Just know five things:
1) I respect you if you would make a different decision than I would.
2) I landed in about the most controversial edge case imaginable.
3) You don’t know me
4) It has not been sentimental, romantic, or spiritually invigorating. It’s been horrible.
5) I don’t do this because I can’t emotionally bear to be parted with what’s left of him. It’s the opposite if anything.
Hey man, I don't know you and you don't know me, but if I may I'd like to point out that you don't have to explain your feelings or thoughts to a bunch of strangers on the Internet. Just getting them out there, in this form, is a gift for anyone willing to receive it.
It seems you are following the ethical course, and this is commendable. As you may already know, in ethics we distinguish between ordinary and extraordinary (or disproportionate) care. But while we may licitly refuse disproportionate care, at least in many cases, we cannot intentionally cause the death of anyone (ourselves or another; the "self-ownership" thesis is likely responsible for the view that we can licitly do anything to ourselves as if we were some kind of property, but we are not objects, and what is morally good is objective and not fully accounted for by consent, or utility). We may not purposefully speed up anyone's death, but we can, in some cases, where proportionality is preserved, permit treatment or refuse treatment, knowing that an unintended side effect is the hastening of death (like, perhaps, alleviation of pain).
In any case, know that such circumstances as yours, if we respond to them rightly, perfect us in the virtue of charity, the highest and greatest of virtues.
I wish your son, you, and your family comfort and joy. Do not despair. Fear not. Pax vobiscum.
At 49 I became a new father. My son (perfectly healthy thus far) is now 2.5 years old.
When I became a parent (a thing that the docs said was "likely impossible" given the obstacles in my and my partner's bodies, and yet here we are with what will likely be my only child ever), a number of perceptions changed, and one of them is that I can never look at any story involving parents, children and tragedy the same again.
I found it supremely difficult to read your piece but I did it anyway. ..... aaaaand I just had to pause because my eyes welled up at the end of the last sentence.
So I'm going to say nothing, because as you said, saying anything is awkward, and you already know how I feel to an extent, because you were a new father too once and terrified of stories like this (much less living one), so in honor of you sharing this part of your life story, I will make sure to hug my son when he returns from daycare shortly, because at the end of the day, love is the only currency that matters.
Keep loving that kid, even given the current situation. I know you have no choice, but keep doing it anyway. Much love to you and yours.
That you’re finding so much comfort and resilience in your faith is an inspiration, and may God bless you all as you care for each other moving forward.
Many years ago, being newly married, I worried about my vulnerability in case my wife died. So one night, while away from her on a business trip, I tried to imagine and fathom her potential death. I was able to do this— or I should say I BEGAN to be able to do it, when to my alarm I felt my mind beginning to detach from her.
I realized from this exercise that the price of love is grief. Grief cannot be minimized or habituated without sacrificing what makes living wonderful.
I have now been married 32 years and have a 30-year old son whom I am equally besotted with. I am fully aware that the death of either of them will vaporize me as I know me. It is a black wall. I can’t and I won’t fathom life without them.
My heart goes out to you. My youngest son is the same age, with a permanent disability which for now we've managed to avoid the worst consequences of thanks to risky but ultimately successful surgeries, but there's an ever-present fear of what his future will be or when will tragedy strike. I just have to live for today, take things one day at a time, and not project into the future. Of course your circumstances are on a whole other level of difficulty and grief, one which I don't think I could handle, and I admire your ability to cope with it to the point of being able to write about it. Sending much love to you and your family.
Thank you, for all 3 blog posts. My wife and I experienced a still birth after a tragic cord accident on Dec 24th, two weeks from our due date. Your words have helped me bring some clarity and comfort to my situation. Thank you.
I'm not emotional man, but the post made me tear up. Thank you for writing this I found it insightful compassionate and educational. I wish you all the best.
Lars, I opened this comment box because I have been through some of what you are going through. I hoped to offer you some comfort. However, as I try to type this, I realize I cannot. Ambigous grief is a bitch. There are no platitudes I can offer. I am sorry you are going through this.
I appreciate you finding a way to so eloquently put your thoughts into words. For the longest time, I always felt like a terrible person or somehow socially or emotionally broken for being unable to respond to others grief. It's not that I couldn't imagine it or somewhat feel how they were feeling, but simply the wish that there was sentence or string of words I could put together to make it all okay. I guess anyone who has ever loved someone has felt the same :(
I've been debating on responding here and well you can see my decision has been made. The caveat is that this response is also biased on my personal experience so your milage may vary.
But for anyone reading this who is adjacent to a close friend or relative or even a stranger that is experience traumatic loss the grieving process is a messy thing. No one experiences it the same way. Second-hand grief is similar.
So rather than "try to fix it" by saying anything, say nothing, and just be present. Just sit. That says more than words. And if you can't be there, notes of "You are on my mind" are good too.
<3 Thank you for writing so beautifully and sharing so openly. Can I ask if you've sought support or community in other parents who have gone through similar losses and are battling this newfound duty? I can't figure out whether that would help or hinder. Perhaps the latter if it is too morose or retraumatizing.
> 17 If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.
18 But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.
Thank you so much for sharing this. God bless you and your family.
Thank you for sharing, and for writing so clearly. I just finished Four Magic Words and enjoyed it very much, including the author's note. Just bought your book as well. I wish you joy even in these difficult circumstances.
Not many things I (or anyone else) can say about what your family is going through. I wish patience and courage.
Your short story "Four Magic Words" is great and I can see how it's affected by recent events. When I saw the Greek phrase "Η Aνθρώπινη Ζωή Εστίν Ιερά" / "Human life is sacred", and after having read your post about your son, I understood that you have some connection with Eastern Christianity.
Being Greek and Christian myself (but not hardcore or old fashioned) I sympathize with you on many topics and wish for the optimal outcome in your family strugles.
Thanks for sharing your story. I want to acknowledge you we feel your devastation. Accept my virtual hugs. I wish peace and harmony to you, your family, and your son.
I have an adult child with severe mental illness. It makes life less-than-easy, but others have it worse (including her). She will probably live with us until we check out. One of the things that concerns me, is how to help her, after we are gone.
I have also had many close associations and friends lose children, relatives, and associates; often, to unnatural causes. It has to do with the demographic I hang with.
> I have also had many close associations and friends lose children, relatives, and associates; often, to unnatural causes. It has to do with the demographic I hang with.
Perhaps this is morbid curiosity getting the best of me, but your last sentence was a surprise. What demographic do you hang out with that has such a high rate of death due to unnatural causes?
Hi larsiusprime, thank you for sharing. Right back at you.
My brain has been turning your words over and over this morning, trying to make sense of them. Trying to understand how I feel about them. I still don't know how to feel about them, but I really connect with the humanity of your story.
Four Magic Words was brilliant, I'm sure that story will sit with me for years.
Sorry for your loss. I myself have two sons and almost cried when I read your post.
I just wanted to respectfully disagree that losing a child was that commonplace until approximately yesterday. IMO it's such a common thing that even today millions of people around the world suffer from that [0]. It's equally horrible experience to lose a child to what you describe in your post or to lose a child due to something this: [1]. (One could argue that a child simply dying is slightly better than having them brain dead for the next X years. But... let's leave it aside for now.)
My humble suggestion would be that maybe it would help to focus on preventing other children die. But IDK, I'm not a psychologist.
This is timely. We just lost our unborn son unexpectedly. He had been diagnosed with some issues with the heart and other organs. We were gearing up for multiple surgeries, a high-care situation, and him potentially not lasting until teens.
We didn't get to make memories with him, or see who he would grow to become. This is a blessing and a curse. But I believe that you and I will both meet our sons again one day in a place where there is no sickness, sadness, or death.
Romans 8:16-17
[16] The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, [17] and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.
Everyone suffers in this life. The choice is whether to suffer with him or without him.
I have two disabled siblings, what I wish I could do is give my parents (who are both dead now) some appreciation of how I now appreciate as a parent how hard it must have been for them and what a splendid job they did for all four of their kids.
I hope and pray that the whole family and everyone his life has touched gets some closure. What you shared broke probably many of us but somewhat was one of the most strengthening things I've ever read.
For the last year my father has been in a similar state, after suffering a massive stroke. You articulated some of my feelings in a beautiful way, even though our circumstances are quite different. Thank you. I wish you peace and joy.
Thanks a lot for that write-up. Sent a very heartfelt prayer for your son. Life is hard beyond measure sometimes. Will give my daughter an extra hug when she is done with kindergarten later today; that much is for sure.
Where did you get that haunting image describing Elder Sophrony of Essex's quote? I love it. I love the tunnel of light juxtaposed with the abyss. And, of course, the simple table with tea.
The quote was one of my wife’s favorites. The image is just from ChatGPT and I believe the current legal doctrine is AI generated images aren’t copyrightable.
My generally bright 3-year-old son has a physical defect that will make life harder for him, and that is reparable by now-common-enough surgery, the sooner the better, but requires general anesthesia.
"Is this worth the risks of general anesthesia" has a different balance for me after reading your story. Intellectually, I know there's risk for any sort of anesthesia, but you've given me some harsh emotional reality.
Chiming in to say that the Ballad of St. Halvor was one of the nicest poems I’ve read in a long while, and kind of inspirational. I think I really needed that.
I have had a stressful, difficult week. Work is volatile right now, and it's taken a toll on my mental health.
Your story took me entirely out of that state, and your words regarding joy and optimism... reframing unimaginable to unfathomable, in particular... have both lifted me and left me with a feeling of unquenchable desire to help.
Thank you for sharing your story, and for being so deeply authentic throughout.
Stay safe and stay healthy, your other kids still need you. Your Son will be alive forever on your heart and memories. Stronger than the death, just the love, I heard once.. stay strong!
I have nothing useful to offer you other than my heartfelt tears and my sorrow. Your writing moved me in a way I cannot explain. God bless you and your family.
My wife of 10 years died of something called ADEM. "Acute disseminated encephalomyelitis". I'll save you the search, it means something (often immune system) strips the Myelin off the nerves in the brain. No Myelin, no proper electrical conduction. In my wife's case it was described as "fulminant", which means "severe and sudden onset". No kidding. She went from standing and talking to bed-ridden and not knowing who I am in 4 days. 3 days after she was "solement", meaning she wouldn't wake up fully. This is commonly described as "being in a coma". About a month and a half later I stopped supporting treatment, just like you did. I, she, were "lucky" (heh) that she didn't survive much longer and died just 3 days after.
I remember the doctors explaining the MRI (took a long while to get a sympathetic neurologist that actually sat and explained to me what's going on), the hopelessness, the decision to pull support and accept whatever happens next. I remember telling the hospital staff "just make her comfortable", though I didn't believe she was still there. Her brain was too far gone.
That decision was the hardest I had to make in my life. "yeah yeah" people might say (not you though, Lars, you know). But no. It was the hardest. To give up on the person that made your life whole. To know there will never be a replacement. Hoping (sorry, not a religious person, I don't really pray. I did try to make lots of deals with god during that time though) that things will get better, then just easier, then finally just end quickly.
Brain diseases are horrible. They frighten me beyond anything else in the world. You see your person change, disappear. That made me not believe in after life, souls, etc. What existence can there be after if you see memories disappear all at once, basic abilities like talking, moving, eating. Maybe there is something, but it's not the person anymore. That was the brain, the memories, the learned behavior and experiences they had in their lives. And when it's gone, it's gone.
I know what descending to that dark valley is like. What walking through it is like. I hope you can come back up towards the light. Eventually. Maybe.
One bit of practical advice: Reach out to psychologists (talk therapy) and to psychotherapists (psychoactive medicine). It's not a shame, it's a strength. Your brain undergoes significant changes and things get out of balance. Talking, pills - they both help. Today's psychiatric medicines are much more advanced and targeted than even 10 years ago, not to mention Hollywood's depictions. "But I'm afraid it'll change me, it won't be me anymore!" - sure, but is being you that great? You can comment here and I can share my own prescribed cocktail to your blog email.
Be strong. The sun will come back up. It won't be as bright or as warm, but it won't be dark forever.
Lars is an absolutely incredible thinker with a polymath-like range.
- He has done great professional work as a software developer
- He has pushed forward arguably one of the best economic policies for modern times(land value tax) through both a startup[1], and writing[2]. I particularly like his interview with Dwarkesh Patel[3]
- He contributes core thinking to rationalist communities. Just the other day I completely randomly encountered him as being submitter of the primary US Election 2024 market on the forecasting site manifold[1]
The two most impactful thinkers/writers in my life have now had to survive through incredible loss(Douglas Hofstadter - who lost his wife after writing GEB is the other). Wishing you all the best Lars.
> The two most impactful thinkers/writers in my life
I am not familiar with the author, but after reading this article I am interested in learning more him and his other thoughts. Can you provide a good starting place for reading material? Specifically something that you feel affected your life.
Way back in 2012, this affected a lot of my thinking around software piracy/selling software, and I think a lot of it has proven pretty insightful in the intervening decade:
The images are shot, but that may be all the attention his site is getting today.
Edit: Many others are already saying it, but thank you for sharing, Lars. No one should have go through this, and your thoughts were beautifully written. Makes me feel very grateful/humbled for so much that I take for granted.
Land is a Big Deal is a great place to start (and his three articles summarising Georgism for SSC, also on his substack named after Henry George's book "Progress and Poverty", which contain much of the same content).
Just in case your "not familiar with the author" meant not Lars but Douglas Hofstadter, I suppose the best place to start is the aforementioned "GEB": Gödel, Escher, Bach - an Eternal Golden Braid -- note how 'GEB' returns transposed as 'EGB in the title; that's kind of significant (IIRC, been decades since I read it). HTH!
The cruelest thing of all is that, technically speaking, his son is still alive. I’d imagine this to be far more torturous.
I have lost many close family members, but they all lost their biological lives. This just seems to be one of the worst experiences you could go through.
People are downvoting you, but yes, his situation is worse than death in a sense. In some ways it's a comfort to still have what's left of him with me, in other ways it's worse. I definitely have a DNR in place for myself. I have complicated feelings about... well, everything, which I did my best to exorcise in this piece I posted a few days ago:
Thank you for sharing. I've found it helps to talk about these things. When my own mother died, I didn't immediately feel sad. It was a range of emotions; I was really surprised at how much I laughed. Not that I found it funny, but something within me just seemed to break.
Thanks for writing this piece, I enjoyed it. My sympathies for your family's loss.
I feel like the most controversial idea in the story is the one where a four-word deontological requirement's truest and deepest form turns out to be a kind of consequentialist utilitarianism!
When your loved one is a continuing biological entity but you will never again experience them as they were… to me it was like all the magic left the world and consciousness/humanity was revealed to be just an illusion.
And, as Lars has written, there are many multipliers in the individual cases. Unfathomable indeed.
I will make some personal comments to Lars privately, but let me say this, publicly:
I read between 10 and 100 articles or posts linked from HN every single day, and I have for years. As you can see for yourselves, I almost never comment. At this late stage in my life and career, it just seems fruitless to add my lone voice to the world of mostly-vapid, interconnected noise.
But Lar’s three poignant and vulnerable essays, as well as his comments on this post, seem to have brought out nearly universally the best people I’ve yet to see on HN or even on the larger net.
Wow. Most of you commenting are demonstrably fine people, and without calling out any in particular, I must decloak for this brief moment to say thank you for being such thoughtful, expressive, kind people.
I certainly hope some of your best comments resonate with and help Lars. However, even if not, your wisdom and humanity have helped me today — helped me process my own life and my still-too-raw tragedies.
Well done, HN “friends.” Keep up your “good works.” May we meet again, in real life or beyond.
> I almost never comment. At this late stage in my life and career, it just seems fruitless to add my lone voice to the world of mostly-vapid, interconnected noise.
Late stage implies you’re older, and thus have seen a lot. You might get comments from people you’d rather not hear from, but your writing itself reaches people like me, who want to learn from your perspective.
> Turns out, unfathomable tragic loss isn't very hard. It's easy, in fact. Easy in the same way that falling off a cliff is "easy"–gravity does all the work for you. It's not like climbing mount Everest, desperately putting one foot in front of the other. It's not like struggling to answer questions in a final exam. Tragic loss is just something that happens to you.
I think about this a lot. The reality of life is that we either don't live very long or we experience unimaginable tragedy. But we figure out how to keep living in the new normal, because what else can you do. I guess part of being human is being able to exist as though this isn't true, and also survive when it happens.
Having gone myself as a 5 year old sibling through something like this I wish to stress this:
Don’t let your other children become chronically mentally ill, send them to the psychotherapist and counselor and do that for years. You can’t imagine the amount of suffering they will have untreated. This is not something that you can just outlive and your children are dependent on you supporting them by giving them support from somebody who actually can support them. The scar of this trauma will run many many years, make them extremely vulnerable and can render them with a full blown disability.
You can prevent this. Don’t let other people who have no idea shame you for seeking help for this.
So weird that I started reading C. S. Lewis’ “a grief observed” yesterday and today this popped up on hn. Your comment and OP’s thread made me go from a lurker to registering an account.
I was 2.5 years old when my brother was born with complications, brain damage being one of them. Could breathe by himself, but fed through a tube and couldn’t move. 3 months later he died.
Not sure what the total impact from this event has been, but I am affected by this event even today, decades later. It’s weird how something can impact a little child that much, but the loss was/is real. Especially with kids that I played with that had siblings (at that time when I was back to zero). Not unfazed, but not mentally crippled either. My parents didn’t, unfortunately(?), take me to any counselors or so, it wasn’t even recommended by any in the medical support apparatus.
I am often reminded that “God gives and he takes” (especially Job’s book), that might be the most pragmatic approach I’ve come up with over the years. And I still miss him when the wound opens once in a while, but at least he didn’t have to suffer.
I haven’t finished the books yet, but C. S. Lewis has at least two on this topic: “a grief observed” and “the problem of pain”, the latter written before losing his wife to cancer.
I hope you and your family can come through this trying time with your hope and faith intact.
I know of Doucet not because of games, but because of his extensive work and amazing writing in favor of a land value tax. Seeing this article title last month was such a gut punch. The lessons in the article are so so valuable, however. I'm so thankful for Doucet sharing the gift of his writing on this topic, and hope that it was helpful for him to create it.
I lost my 3 1/2 year old daughter to sudden illness about 10 months ago. Be gentle to yourself and your family. There will be times where you aren’t actively feeling the grief, but they pull you into theirs or vice versa. There will be times where your love and grief for your lost child will make it easy to forget to cherish the loved ones in front of you.
As you figure out how to live life from here– may you find a path forward that is healthy, loving, and beneficial for you and those you care about.
Readit News
I love you all. Hug your kids if you have em.
EDIT: The above blog post here was one of three things I wrote in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy to try to process my feelings and exorcise my dark thoughts. I have two more which you can find below:
The Ballad of St. Halvor (a poem): https://www.fortressofdoors.com/st-halvor/
Four Magic Words (short story, somewhat dark): https://www.fortressofdoors.com/four-magic-words/
I know how it feels when calamity hits. It's ugly. But with, time it gets easier. Hang in there, and know that you're not alone.
Parenting him has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but there have also been moments of joy.
Hang in there, take care of yourself, and get as much help as you can. Being a carer is a huge job.
I wrote a little here: https://x.com/dnf/status/1746775939961528693?s=20
Take care of yourself and your partner. Get some outside help if you can so you can take some breaks.
Find things that bring you joy, treat yourself.
Try and help your daughters process things and come away better people for the experience.
Treat your son with love and dignity.
Find some things in your life to be grateful for and dwell on them, it is impossible to feel sorrow and gratitude at the same time.
Sending the hugs back to you and yours.
This is very much the opposite of my experience. Being grateful even for the losses that have brought the most sorrow, the two things at the very same time, has ripped me apart, but it's also been the only way through.
ETA: I say this not to contradict you or deny your experience. I say it in case other people are thinking their experience might need to include both, so they're encouraged to realize that, for some people, it's not impossible, but necessary.
Any advice on how to do this one. Recently I have been Noticing how no matter how many Good things I do in a year once they’re over they don’t really bring positive feelings the same way that the bad things pop up and make them selves dwelled upon.
emotions are complex. you can show compassion and empathy without instruction?
inshallah
I would’ve said this too, until 12 months ago. I lost my dog suddenly. And then some weeks and months later I started to feel her presence running up alongside me when I would walk in our familiar places.
In those moments I felt elation in her presence and also utter despair in her loss all at once.
It was a strange experience but also clear as day.
But I feel so isolated sometimes. Physically because it's so hard for us to go out, and mentally because if I share the details with 'ordinary' people it just tends to alienate them. People want to hear about softball tournaments and class plays, not feeding tubes and adult sized diapers. It's important for me to remember that I'm not uniquely cursed in having to deal with this.
You might say "get over it and stop feeling bad - you have something good," and I know I do, but the past hangs over me like a never-ending storm. How can I ever forgive myself for what I did? The thought of them safe in their mother's wombs and being ripped out...I can hardly bear it. I carry this pain daily. I have since learned that having kids is the best thing that ever happened to me. It taught me how to love in a way I hadn't ever before. Having this knowledge makes the past even harder to accept. Who would those unborn have been today? What would they have taught me? How can I be a caring person to have done this?
I can't say I can relate to your situation, so please forgive any apparent glibness, but I would gladly sign up to go through what a lot of people here have done for their children with special needs just to have the chance to have known them. It may sound easy for me to say, but be glad you didn't make my choices. If someone else reads this who did, please know that there is also a part of me that realizes I thought things would be different, and I went on the information I had, which was bad. I'm not at all judging you. You did the best you could. Despite me sounding self condemning, I'm just very regretful that I didn't make a different choice.
All this to say: I hope you find a little more validation from my story that you are on a good path, and that you are not cursed, but rather have a gift. It's a gift I chose to throw away. It sounds like it's hard to manage at times but it's very much a gift. I know that sounds dismissive and cheesy, like everything everyone would say because it sounds good and doesn't acknowledge the real sacrifices you've had to make in comparison to friends who don't understand, but I want you to know that I truly mean it, and I understand, maybe unlike others who say it, what it really means, because I look at you and want so badly what you have, if it meant having all my children alive in my life. Your child taught you how to love - deeper and more alive than anything else possibly could have. It may seem like life/God used force to shape you like this, but I'm learning that's the only way it can work sometimes. You have to get to a point where you are willing to see it differently, and God will find a way to show you that. Maybe your child's presence forced you to make a choice to break through your own ego and be willing to love them. If so, it no doubt transformed you. Learning that is the greatest lesson life can teach. You are on a good path. It won't be evident for a time, but you absolutely are. I send you my best.
Thank you very much for this write-up.
I lost my 21 year old brother in law to leukemia a few years back. Even though I didn't experience the same severity of pain as my wife or in-laws, I was still there through all of it. I saw my parents-in-law taking care of their dying son, who only a few months ago was a promising ornithology student, and the fittest player on his soccer team. What you wrote resonates a lot with what they said, and what I saw them go through.
Thank you for including the reference to Daniel 3, it has been a source of strength for my in-laws too. My brother-in-law got a lot of his strength from Philippians 1:21 "For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
The love and care that you provide to your son does not go unnoticed or unseen.
One thing I learned from my in-laws' tragedy, was that the grief never goes away, but you will grow stronger in dealing with it.
I will be hugging my own kids extra-hard when I get home from work this afternoon.
Picture your life as a a big, clear ball. When the grief first happens, it's like a giant, dark ball suddenly fills up the entire ball. There's nothing else. Everything is pain. Everything is grief.
People think the dark ball is meant to shrink over time, but in my experience, that's not it at all. What happens instead is that, slowly but surely, the clear ball gets bigger.
Eventually, not every moment is grief. Not every moment is pain. It's still there. It's never smaller. It never actually even hurts less. But you grow around it.
Losing someone to death is like if a color suddenly disappeared from your whole world. Let's use yellow. You've encountered so much of your life with this yellow in it. The more closely things were associated with this person,the yellower they are--and the more wrong they look now that yellow is gone.
Over time, you get used to the way they look, but you never really forget how they looked back when they were yellow. They're not as beautiful now.
But then there are other things that you encounter that haven't ever been yellow, places that person never went or things they were never a part of. You can imagine how much more beautiful they would be if they did have yellow, but they don't look wrong to you without yellow. They just look how they look, and that's the way you expect them to be beautiful.
I don't know if these images are helpful to anyone else, but they've made a big difference to me on my own grief journey, and since today would have been my sister's birthday, I thought I'd share them.
When you say "It's not hard" you hit on one of the things I've always found difficulty to tell people. It's not hard, because it's the only thing to do. That certainty means it's painful, tiring, and many other things; but not hard.
My experience is that it only becomes really hard when you contemplate alternatives, imagine things being different, or daydream of a different life.
I lost my mother over 23 years ago, and one of the the hardest things for the longest while was anytime I would travel somewhere amazing, whether a city or country or the top of a mountain, knowing I'm seeing something she never saw, but might have, and what a kick she'd get out of it. It's always been in the back of my mind.
Now the hardest thing is realizing she'll never know her granddaughter, and vice-versa. Not to mention how much my daughter looks like her. But that's also a beautiful reminder of the cyclical nature of life and all its seasons.
Meaning, is all this being done for some hope that the miracle pulls through? What if you knew with absolute certainty there was no recover and no brain activity, only pain.
So this is hard if you have a choice, what is the right choice?
I also wanted to encourage you to keep going with your creative work, because I know it can really help fathom the depths of your mind in a way that "logical" thought really can't. For me, it was playing the piano and writing some (bad) compositions. You write very well, and I hope it brings you some clarity and relief.
Thank you and my best wishes to you and your family.
This. I'm in a much less tragic situation with an intellectually disabled kid. After all the struggles to diagnose, potentially treat, and finally accept his - our - fate, the whole ordeal ended abruptly with this very same sentence. I am at peace now taking care of my kid.
Go ahead and have a reasoned debate about euthanasia if you want — I’ve never subscribed to “the person who is suffering the most this second gets to be right about everything.”
Just know five things:
1) I respect you if you would make a different decision than I would.
2) I landed in about the most controversial edge case imaginable.
3) You don’t know me
4) It has not been sentimental, romantic, or spiritually invigorating. It’s been horrible.
5) I don’t do this because I can’t emotionally bear to be parted with what’s left of him. It’s the opposite if anything.
Thank you.
I've been reading everything you've posted and this is my favorite line. Nothing about what's happened with my son has made me better.
In any case, know that such circumstances as yours, if we respond to them rightly, perfect us in the virtue of charity, the highest and greatest of virtues.
I wish your son, you, and your family comfort and joy. Do not despair. Fear not. Pax vobiscum.
When I became a parent (a thing that the docs said was "likely impossible" given the obstacles in my and my partner's bodies, and yet here we are with what will likely be my only child ever), a number of perceptions changed, and one of them is that I can never look at any story involving parents, children and tragedy the same again.
I found it supremely difficult to read your piece but I did it anyway. ..... aaaaand I just had to pause because my eyes welled up at the end of the last sentence.
So I'm going to say nothing, because as you said, saying anything is awkward, and you already know how I feel to an extent, because you were a new father too once and terrified of stories like this (much less living one), so in honor of you sharing this part of your life story, I will make sure to hug my son when he returns from daycare shortly, because at the end of the day, love is the only currency that matters.
Keep loving that kid, even given the current situation. I know you have no choice, but keep doing it anyway. Much love to you and yours.
That you’re finding so much comfort and resilience in your faith is an inspiration, and may God bless you all as you care for each other moving forward.
I lost my brother a while back. It never goes away. All that the living have is life. Adore it.
Many years ago, being newly married, I worried about my vulnerability in case my wife died. So one night, while away from her on a business trip, I tried to imagine and fathom her potential death. I was able to do this— or I should say I BEGAN to be able to do it, when to my alarm I felt my mind beginning to detach from her.
I realized from this exercise that the price of love is grief. Grief cannot be minimized or habituated without sacrificing what makes living wonderful.
I have now been married 32 years and have a 30-year old son whom I am equally besotted with. I am fully aware that the death of either of them will vaporize me as I know me. It is a black wall. I can’t and I won’t fathom life without them.
I will simply pay the price.
Godspeed.
But for anyone reading this who is adjacent to a close friend or relative or even a stranger that is experience traumatic loss the grieving process is a messy thing. No one experiences it the same way. Second-hand grief is similar.
So rather than "try to fix it" by saying anything, say nothing, and just be present. Just sit. That says more than words. And if you can't be there, notes of "You are on my mind" are good too.
There is no fixing grief, only going through it.
Thank you so much for sharing this. God bless you and your family.
Your short story "Four Magic Words" is great and I can see how it's affected by recent events. When I saw the Greek phrase "Η Aνθρώπινη Ζωή Εστίν Ιερά" / "Human life is sacred", and after having read your post about your son, I understood that you have some connection with Eastern Christianity.
Being Greek and Christian myself (but not hardcore or old fashioned) I sympathize with you on many topics and wish for the optimal outcome in your family strugles.
I have also had many close associations and friends lose children, relatives, and associates; often, to unnatural causes. It has to do with the demographic I hang with.
Perhaps this is morbid curiosity getting the best of me, but your last sentence was a surprise. What demographic do you hang out with that has such a high rate of death due to unnatural causes?
Hi larsiusprime, thank you for sharing. Right back at you.
My brain has been turning your words over and over this morning, trying to make sense of them. Trying to understand how I feel about them. I still don't know how to feel about them, but I really connect with the humanity of your story.
Four Magic Words was brilliant, I'm sure that story will sit with me for years.
Sorry for your loss. I myself have two sons and almost cried when I read your post.
I just wanted to respectfully disagree that losing a child was that commonplace until approximately yesterday. IMO it's such a common thing that even today millions of people around the world suffer from that [0]. It's equally horrible experience to lose a child to what you describe in your post or to lose a child due to something this: [1]. (One could argue that a child simply dying is slightly better than having them brain dead for the next X years. But... let's leave it aside for now.)
My humble suggestion would be that maybe it would help to focus on preventing other children die. But IDK, I'm not a psychologist.
Chreers!
[0] https://ourworldindata.org/child-mortality
[1] WARNING: pretty graphical https://w.wiki/8thW
God bless you and your family.
We didn't get to make memories with him, or see who he would grow to become. This is a blessing and a curse. But I believe that you and I will both meet our sons again one day in a place where there is no sickness, sadness, or death.
Romans 8:16-17
[16] The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, [17] and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.
Everyone suffers in this life. The choice is whether to suffer with him or without him.
Thank you. I don't know you, but I love you.
Is the image copyrighted?
>DALL-E-2023-12-02-15.50.18---A-serene--contemplative-scene-inspired-by-Elder-Sophrony-of-Essex-s-quote.-The-image-depicts-a-peaceful-landscape-with-a-deep--dark-abyss-in-the-backg
"Is this worth the risks of general anesthesia" has a different balance for me after reading your story. Intellectually, I know there's risk for any sort of anesthesia, but you've given me some harsh emotional reality.
I'm sorry that this happened to you and your son.
Your story took me entirely out of that state, and your words regarding joy and optimism... reframing unimaginable to unfathomable, in particular... have both lifted me and left me with a feeling of unquenchable desire to help.
Thank you for sharing your story, and for being so deeply authentic throughout.
Sorry if it's presumptious to jump in in your place Lars, undskyld, but I'm going on the premise that you just missed this question.
Good luck Nerdhead; all the best Larsius.
Stay safe and stay healthy, your other kids still need you. Your Son will be alive forever on your heart and memories. Stronger than the death, just the love, I heard once.. stay strong!
No words will make this easier, it just dulls over time.
I understand the motivation for stability and applaud you for that. My experiences were similar.
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My wife of 10 years died of something called ADEM. "Acute disseminated encephalomyelitis". I'll save you the search, it means something (often immune system) strips the Myelin off the nerves in the brain. No Myelin, no proper electrical conduction. In my wife's case it was described as "fulminant", which means "severe and sudden onset". No kidding. She went from standing and talking to bed-ridden and not knowing who I am in 4 days. 3 days after she was "solement", meaning she wouldn't wake up fully. This is commonly described as "being in a coma". About a month and a half later I stopped supporting treatment, just like you did. I, she, were "lucky" (heh) that she didn't survive much longer and died just 3 days after.
I remember the doctors explaining the MRI (took a long while to get a sympathetic neurologist that actually sat and explained to me what's going on), the hopelessness, the decision to pull support and accept whatever happens next. I remember telling the hospital staff "just make her comfortable", though I didn't believe she was still there. Her brain was too far gone.
That decision was the hardest I had to make in my life. "yeah yeah" people might say (not you though, Lars, you know). But no. It was the hardest. To give up on the person that made your life whole. To know there will never be a replacement. Hoping (sorry, not a religious person, I don't really pray. I did try to make lots of deals with god during that time though) that things will get better, then just easier, then finally just end quickly.
Brain diseases are horrible. They frighten me beyond anything else in the world. You see your person change, disappear. That made me not believe in after life, souls, etc. What existence can there be after if you see memories disappear all at once, basic abilities like talking, moving, eating. Maybe there is something, but it's not the person anymore. That was the brain, the memories, the learned behavior and experiences they had in their lives. And when it's gone, it's gone.
I know what descending to that dark valley is like. What walking through it is like. I hope you can come back up towards the light. Eventually. Maybe.
One bit of practical advice: Reach out to psychologists (talk therapy) and to psychotherapists (psychoactive medicine). It's not a shame, it's a strength. Your brain undergoes significant changes and things get out of balance. Talking, pills - they both help. Today's psychiatric medicines are much more advanced and targeted than even 10 years ago, not to mention Hollywood's depictions. "But I'm afraid it'll change me, it won't be me anymore!" - sure, but is being you that great? You can comment here and I can share my own prescribed cocktail to your blog email.
Be strong. The sun will come back up. It won't be as bright or as warm, but it won't be dark forever.
Lars is an absolutely incredible thinker with a polymath-like range.
- He has done great professional work as a software developer
- He has pushed forward arguably one of the best economic policies for modern times(land value tax) through both a startup[1], and writing[2]. I particularly like his interview with Dwarkesh Patel[3]
- He contributes core thinking to rationalist communities. Just the other day I completely randomly encountered him as being submitter of the primary US Election 2024 market on the forecasting site manifold[1]
The two most impactful thinkers/writers in my life have now had to survive through incredible loss(Douglas Hofstadter - who lost his wife after writing GEB is the other). Wishing you all the best Lars.
Sources:
[1] https://www.valuebase.co/
[2] https://www.landisabigdeal.com/
[3] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sL-qkv7Pzxo
[4] https://manifold.markets/LarsDoucet/will-joe-biden-win-the-2...
I am not familiar with the author, but after reading this article I am interested in learning more him and his other thoughts. Can you provide a good starting place for reading material? Specifically something that you feel affected your life.
https://www.fortressofdoors.com/piracy-and-the-four-currenci...
The images are shot, but that may be all the attention his site is getting today.
Edit: Many others are already saying it, but thank you for sharing, Lars. No one should have go through this, and your thoughts were beautifully written. Makes me feel very grateful/humbled for so much that I take for granted.
I have lost many close family members, but they all lost their biological lives. This just seems to be one of the worst experiences you could go through.
https://www.fortressofdoors.com/four-magic-words/
I feel like the most controversial idea in the story is the one where a four-word deontological requirement's truest and deepest form turns out to be a kind of consequentialist utilitarianism!
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And, as Lars has written, there are many multipliers in the individual cases. Unfathomable indeed.
I read between 10 and 100 articles or posts linked from HN every single day, and I have for years. As you can see for yourselves, I almost never comment. At this late stage in my life and career, it just seems fruitless to add my lone voice to the world of mostly-vapid, interconnected noise.
But Lar’s three poignant and vulnerable essays, as well as his comments on this post, seem to have brought out nearly universally the best people I’ve yet to see on HN or even on the larger net.
Wow. Most of you commenting are demonstrably fine people, and without calling out any in particular, I must decloak for this brief moment to say thank you for being such thoughtful, expressive, kind people.
I certainly hope some of your best comments resonate with and help Lars. However, even if not, your wisdom and humanity have helped me today — helped me process my own life and my still-too-raw tragedies.
Well done, HN “friends.” Keep up your “good works.” May we meet again, in real life or beyond.
> I almost never comment. At this late stage in my life and career, it just seems fruitless to add my lone voice to the world of mostly-vapid, interconnected noise.
Late stage implies you’re older, and thus have seen a lot. You might get comments from people you’d rather not hear from, but your writing itself reaches people like me, who want to learn from your perspective.
> Turns out, unfathomable tragic loss isn't very hard. It's easy, in fact. Easy in the same way that falling off a cliff is "easy"–gravity does all the work for you. It's not like climbing mount Everest, desperately putting one foot in front of the other. It's not like struggling to answer questions in a final exam. Tragic loss is just something that happens to you.
I think about this a lot. The reality of life is that we either don't live very long or we experience unimaginable tragedy. But we figure out how to keep living in the new normal, because what else can you do. I guess part of being human is being able to exist as though this isn't true, and also survive when it happens.
Having gone myself as a 5 year old sibling through something like this I wish to stress this:
Don’t let your other children become chronically mentally ill, send them to the psychotherapist and counselor and do that for years. You can’t imagine the amount of suffering they will have untreated. This is not something that you can just outlive and your children are dependent on you supporting them by giving them support from somebody who actually can support them. The scar of this trauma will run many many years, make them extremely vulnerable and can render them with a full blown disability.
You can prevent this. Don’t let other people who have no idea shame you for seeking help for this.
I was 2.5 years old when my brother was born with complications, brain damage being one of them. Could breathe by himself, but fed through a tube and couldn’t move. 3 months later he died.
Not sure what the total impact from this event has been, but I am affected by this event even today, decades later. It’s weird how something can impact a little child that much, but the loss was/is real. Especially with kids that I played with that had siblings (at that time when I was back to zero). Not unfazed, but not mentally crippled either. My parents didn’t, unfortunately(?), take me to any counselors or so, it wasn’t even recommended by any in the medical support apparatus.
I am often reminded that “God gives and he takes” (especially Job’s book), that might be the most pragmatic approach I’ve come up with over the years. And I still miss him when the wound opens once in a while, but at least he didn’t have to suffer.
I haven’t finished the books yet, but C. S. Lewis has at least two on this topic: “a grief observed” and “the problem of pain”, the latter written before losing his wife to cancer.
I hope you and your family can come through this trying time with your hope and faith intact.
thanks for your comment. Your story touched me immediately in my heart.
I can recommend you this book on your quest to get more insights and ideas for healing:
"Healing Developmental Trauma: How Early Trauma Affects Self-Regulation, Self-Image, and the Capacity for Relationship" from Laurence Heller, PhD
As you figure out how to live life from here– may you find a path forward that is healthy, loving, and beneficial for you and those you care about.