After my father passed away, my brother decided that I should handle everything and not question it.
Right after the funeral, my brother placed the keys to Dad’s flat on the table in front of me.
My mother sat quietly on the sofa, saying nothing. I was clutching the folder full of papers, feeling bewildered about when Id become the person expected to make all these decisions.
Dad left us suddenly. There was no time for talks, no discussions, no chance to split the responsibilities.
My brother lives here in London, but he always says his job is stressful. I work as an accountant myself and face deadlines too, but somehow, that didnt seem to matter to him.
By the third day, my brother told me that I was more organised and calm than him and that I was better at sorting out paperwork.
So I began my rounds, visiting offices and agencies, carrying copies, originals, certificates. Standing in queues, ticket in hand.
My brother would only ring to ask whether everything was fine. Rarely would he actually come with me.
Mum would often cry in the evenings as I sorted through Dads wardrobe. I folded his shirts one by one and packed them away in boxes.
My brother told me he couldnt bear to go into Dads room. He said it was too much for him.
I too went home each night and sat in the dark. Yet each morning, I got up and carried on.
Eventually, the question arose about what to do with Dads flat. My brother said it would be best to sell it so it wouldnt be a burden to anyone.
I asked where Mum was supposed to live. He told me she could move in with me, since my place was bigger.
Mum just stared at the floor and kept quiet.
At that moment, I realised my brother had already made the decision without asking anyone.
When we met to discuss the details, he spoke about prices, estate agents, deadlines. I spoke about how Mum wakes up at night still expecting to find Dad.
My brother sighed, saying, We need to be practical.
That word echoed in my mind.
I am practical myself: I pay my bills on time, stick to a budget. But I couldnt accept treating Mum like just another item to plan for.
A few days later, my brother brought round an agency contract. He put it on the kitchen table and handed me a pen.
I asked if hed spoken to Mum. He answered that she didnt have the strength for such matters.
I looked at Mum. She was gripping the edge of the tablecloth.
I pushed the contract back towards my brother.
I told him I wouldnt sign until Mum said what she wanted. My brother got frustrated, saying I always made things difficult.
I didnt raise my voice. I simply repeated that this was Dad and Mums home.
After that evening, my brother stopped calling me every day. He began to communicate only through short messages about bills and deadlines.
Mum has stayed with me for now. Each morning, I make her a cup of tea and leave it by her side. She sits for ages looking out the window.
Dads flat still hasnt been sold. I keep paying for the electricity and water so they don’t cut anything off.
Sometimes I wonder if my brother sees me as his sister or just as the one expected to carry the burden for him.
I dont want to fight with him. Nor do I want to let Mum down.
And so I stand between them, holding folders of documents, with the sense that if I keep quiet, everything will be settled without me.
I still ask myself: am I right to hold off the sale, even though its causing tension between my brother and me?
After My Father Passed Away, My Brother Decided I Should Handle Everything Without Question—He Left …
