My Brother & I Haven’t Spoken Since My Mother Died
My mother was diagnosed with dementia seven years ago and things got really hard. I could see her slowly deteriorating and both my parents needed help. They didn’t want to go into care, so I would spend a lot of the weekend with them. I was also managing my children and holding down a full-time job, so it was hard. It was just me doing this; my brother had moved overseas. Twice a year, he would come back and stay with them.
My brother and I had been quite close when we were younger and often we were united against our parents. My mother was formidable. She loved us fiercely but she was very, very strict. My brother and I fought occasionally, but no more than other siblings.
That changed during my mother’s decline into dementia. My dad wasn’t coping at all; he spent a lot of time crying and really struggled with her being so ill. I tried talking to my brother about it and he agreed it was an impossible situation but offered nothing by way of help. My parents came from Europe to Melbourne in the 1960s and they were “head down, bum up”. Through sheer hard work, they owned a number of investment properties. It was a good property portfolio that should have seen them through retirement and beyond. So, when my mother got sick, I thought there would be enough money to pay for the care she needed.
I started to ask about my parents’ financial arrangements and that’s when things with my brother quickly turned frosty. He had set up a family trust for my parents, putting all their properties into a trust for tax benefits. Initially, I was part of it but eventually he made himself sole executor and administrator of that family trust. I only found out a few years later. He got really hostile because he didn’t like me questioning anything.
It was a shock to discover my brother had sold most of the properties and that there was only one left. I just about had a breakdown. Mum was already starting to shut down and go into her own world and Dad, although strong in many ways, was also extremely emotional and not equipped to deal with all the drama. I didn’t know what to do. That was their very last investment gone; millions were squandered to finance my brother’s lifestyle, which included designer clothing, a posh apartment and a high-end sports car. The family trust was worthless. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I could no longer pretend to have a “normal” relationship with him.
Even as teenagers, we had different ideas about money. He would make jokes about selling their properties and buying a Ferrari. It would irritate me, his attitude that he was entitled to everything my parents had. My thinking was, that’s theirs, and maybe one day we would inherit it. But when you’re young, it’s not something you worry about too much. I was more annoyed that I had to spend Saturdays cleaning the house with Mum and he didn’t. I would ask, “Why can’t he help? He has two arms, why can’t he do what I do?” But because he was a boy, there were different expectations of us early on.
My brother’s true character started to come to light in his 20s. He was really controlling and narcissistic. Things revolved around him all the time and he had a strong sense of entitlement – that’s how he was raised. I would give him what he wanted, too; if he needed something done, I would do it, just to keep the peace. It came from my mother’s attitude, which I now realise was so damaging: She’d say, “You know what he’s like, let him do what he wants to do.”
““My brother had brought my parents into the bank and my father agreed that he could withdraw the whole amount. A few days later, my dad walked back in and said, ‘I have no money left.’””
We got into some terrible arguments when my mother was unwell. I think he fancied himself as a “Godfather” figure, because once he said to me, “Don’t worry, you and the children will always be looked after.” I said, “I don’t need you to look after me! This isn’t right. We should both be in charge.” I tried to explain it to my parents. I don’t know if they didn’t understand or they didn’t want to understand. They were adamant that everything was half-half between us. In the end I thought, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Things got worse about two years ago when I decided to look at my parents’ bank book after an offhand comment by my father. I nearly died. There were four transfers totalling $40,000 and an amount of $130,000 that had been issued as a cheque but had come back [into my parents’ account] a few days later. It turned out that my brother had brought my parents into the bank and my father agreed that he could withdraw the whole amount. A few days later, my dad walked back in and said, “I have no money left.” That’s when the bank reversed the cheque for $130,000. That was all that remained of their life savings.
I tried to seek justice legally. We had a long battle through VCAT [the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal] but in the end, my brother was still appointed as administrator. I couldn’t speak. Sure enough, it took him two weeks to clean out their account. I was told that my only recourse was to take him to the Supreme Court, but I’m not going to mortgage my house for that. There is an order issued that my brother return the money, but he hasn’t done so yet.
Last year, my mum passed away. My parents had been living in permanent care after Dad had a massive stroke. Initially there wasn’t enough money in their account to pay for her funeral and it took more than a week of dealing with State Trustees to work something out. As if it wasn’t enough to be grieving the loss of my mother, I had to try and work out how to pay for her funeral because her account had been emptied. My brother didn’t reach out to me; there was just silence.
When my parent’s original residence had to be sold to pay for Dad’s care, I ended up buying it. It was an emotional, bittersweet thing. I spent more than two decades there, and my parents had been there for nearly six. That was all they had left – a crumbling, decrepit house. But I love the fact that it’s in my name. Through it I feel like I’m still connected to them somehow, and I’d like it to be a legacy for my children. It was worth every dollar.
It’s taken me years, but I’ve finally found my peace. The tears, resentment, anger and hurt all ultimately led to resignation. I can’t change the past, but I can choose not to let it adversely affect my current life and mental health. I’m still bewildered at how my brother could have done this to me, his only sibling. Some things just never make sense. The sadness and hurt hasn’t gone away, but it’s a muted feeling and I think I'll always carry it.
I miss the brother that I grew up with, who was my ally and the person I played practical jokes on, the two of us laughing to the point of tears. Now, he is a stranger to me. Losing Mum was a blow, and when Dad eventually goes I will feel completely adrift from the life I once had.
Our interviewee chose to remain anonymous.
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