My Mother's Illness and What My Brother Said

I've told my mom many times that with her condition, she has to keep her emotions in check. If something might upset her, she shouldn't do it.

Since her surgery, her temper really isn't as explosive as before, and she stays calm about most things. The only thing that always makes her angry is my brother.

My brother doesn't know about her illness yet, and I haven't told him. I don't know how it will affect him, but I've decided I need to find a chance to tell him.

I've told my mom many times that my brother is not young anymore and doesn't have much education, so there's no point in endless earnest talks. People his age don't listen.

Yesterday morning, my mom told me, she said to my brother that he has to walk his own path in life, that kind of thing. My brother said: "Life ends up the same in the end anyway."

My mom said: "Same how?"

"Just the same. You know."

That made her very angry, and the aftereffects of her surgery, which hadn't shown up in a long time, flared up again today in a mild episode. Hearing this, I was furious. I don't care how my brother is doing. I only care about my mother's health.

Thinking about my brother constantly making my mom angry makes me angry too. In my imagination I've already hung him up and beaten him a hundred times. But I couldn't actually hit anyone. That's thanks to how my mother raised me.

My brother is similar. He may have a lot of problems inside, but he's always been insecure and withdrawn. When I was his age, I was just like him. He even said this to my mom: "At school, none of them play with me."

It reminded me of a weekend ten years ago in a tiny rented room. I sat by the door with my hands over my face, while my parents sat on the edge of the bed and listened to me say exactly the same thing. My parents had little education, honest working-class people, and faced with this kind of growing pain, their answer was plain. All they said was: "If nobody will play with you, why not think about what's wrong with you?"

After that, in middle school, high school, and college, I became a real social butterfly.

Ten years have passed. My parents are approaching middle age, and they no longer put into my brother's upbringing the fire they once put into mine. Now we're better off materially, and yet someone like my brother, one of the first kids born in the 2010s, ends up with psychological problems.

When I used to see people online with mental health problems, I thought I understood. Modern people's emotions are sensitive, after all. But when it happened right next to me, I didn't know how to respond. Why would he have psychological problems?

As parents, we never demanded top grades from him, and never told him he couldn't use his phone or play games. On the contrary, when he wanted to ride, I bought him a bike. When he wanted to run, I bought him running shoes. When he wanted to play games, I got him a better phone.

The material conditions aren't great, but they're certainly not the worst. So why, in a situation like this, does he still have psychological problems?

I don't understand.

Many years ago, when I was young, I had worries too. But my worries weren't about ill will toward other people, or disappointment in myself. They were just a broad confusion and loss about life.

Civility is a good concept. These days we all promote being civil, and our words and manners have become those of civilized people. In speech, in doing things, in raising kids, the plain ways of decades ago, mixed with a country accent, now seem a bit rough.

I think I'm a typical product of that kind of upbringing. When I'm angry to the extreme, unless someone threatens my life, I could never do something violent. It's like I've been domesticated.

Now facing my brother's problem, I'm extremely angry inside, but I can't do anything about it. I plan to find some time to talk with him properly.

I only hope he stops saying things that upset my mom. As for his future, I never had any particular expectations. I just hope he stays out of trouble and stays safe.

My mom had two children, and she's only 44 now. That's not old at all, and both her kids are no longer little, yet she has come down with a stubborn illness at this point.

Only at times like this do people realize that fate isn't linear at all. It's unfathomable. When a person dies, the light goes out. A hundred years from now no one will remember you or me, and the universe has nothing to do with us.

My mom's temperament has gotten much better in the last couple of years, but she still works herself to the bone as ever, just like my grandma.

Next month is her birthday. I plan to take her to Yunnan for a few days.

When I was little, my uncle took my grandparents to Beijing, and I thought that was wonderful.

Now I'm able to do the same.