“Brother Refused to Care for Ailing Mother and Planned to Sell Her Home”: Since Then, Neither Mom Nor I Wanted Anything to Do with Him

Growing up, I always looked up to my brother James. He was the older, supposedly wiser sibling who I thought would lead by example. However, as we ventured into adulthood, our paths diverged dramatically, and not in the ways I had hoped.

I, Naomi, after graduating high school, was eager to embrace independence. I moved to Chicago to attend university, majoring in psychology. My goal was to understand human behavior, perhaps subconsciously to make sense of my own family dynamics. Meanwhile, James, who had no clear ambitions, stayed back in our small hometown of Springfield, living with our parents without much of a plan.

Our mother, Hannah, had been the glue holding our family together. A kind and gentle soul, she had always been there for both of us, regardless of the circumstances. However, as fate would have it, just as I was about to start my final year of college, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. The disease progressed quickly, and soon, she needed constant care.

Despite the physical distance, I did my best to support her. I arranged my classes to allow for long weekends back home, spent reading to her and helping around the house. James, on the other hand, found the situation an inconvenience. He complained about the burden of care, despite living under the same roof and contributing little to household expenses.

The real shock came when I discovered James had been discussing plans to sell our family home. He believed that the money could be better used to support his lifestyle and pay off his debts, rather than securing the care our mother needed. When I confronted him, the conversation turned heated. James accused me of abandoning the family by moving away and claimed he deserved compensation for living with our parents and dealing with Mom’s illness.

Feeling betrayed, I took it upon myself to arrange professional care for Mom and started the legal process to ensure that the house would be protected from James’s impulsiveness. The strain of the situation was palpable. We barely spoke, except through curt texts and tense phone calls, mostly arguing about Mom’s care and the house.

Months turned into a year, and Mom’s condition worsened. I graduated and moved back to Springfield to be closer to her. James, feeling cornered by my actions to protect the property, grew distant. He visited less frequently, and when he did, his visits were marked by silence and avoidance.

One chilly evening in November, I received a call from a neighbor, alerting me that James was at the house, loading some of Mom’s valuables into his car. By the time I arrived, he was gone, and so were several family heirlooms. That night, Mom passed away, perhaps from a broken heart more than her illness.

Since then, neither Mom nor I wanted anything to do with him. The betrayal was too deep, and the loss too profound. James never showed up for the funeral. He had made his choice, and so had I. In the end, all the memories of brotherly love were overshadowed by the shadows of greed and selfishness.