After the Dishonored Check: My Uncle, the Business Owner, Died in His 50s

It is still a little painful for me to talk about my uncle, who was a business owner.
For me, he was a person associated with many bitter memories—but even so, I also respected him.

In contrast to our impoverished household, my uncle's family was always glamorous.

They kept switching to new cars, had a spacious and beautiful apartment, and plush sofas.
My cousin even had his own room.
They went on family trips to Hawaii, the children attended English conversation classes, and they even appeared on the TV show "Old Enough!".
They had game consoles before anyone else, and my brother and I were always envious.

However, after my grandmother collapsed, my uncle's family stopped coming over.
They only came for half a day on New Year's Day.
I feel like that was when the emotional distance between us began to grow, little by little.

When I was in high school, I went to my uncle's office with my brother just once.
It was a small design firm with only a few employees, but he gave lectures and seemed to be highly respected.

He had been a capable person since he was young, and I even heard stories that when he worked in sales, he received a salary "thick enough that a stack of bills could stand upright."
He decided to start his own business, and it seemed like he was living a life of smooth sailing.

—However, after my parents divorced, my uncle's attitude changed completely.

"Listen, you two aren't children anymore. You're adults."
He said that to us when we were in junior high school.
"If no one is going to teach you about society, I will."
"If you want to protect your mother, get on the same playing field."

Thinking about it now, there might have been a feeling of harsh "encouragement" behind those words, directed at us as we lived while carrying the burden of a mother we couldn't rely on.

After that, my uncle's company began to tilt after receiving a dishonored check from a business partner.
He seemed to be desperately clinging on and trying his best not to let that show.
It might have been right around that time that he started saying things like this.

"To get something of value, you have to give something up."
"For someone to be happy, there are people who have to be unhappy. That is reality."

The uncle who was once strict but kind was no longer there.
For him, the only "family to protect" must have been his own.
He was the only person I could rely on. Even so, things were different now.

Just before my grandfather passed away, my uncle was in a state of "having vanity but no money."
He didn't help care for my grandmother, and he had a look in his eyes as if he were targeting the little inheritance my grandfather had left.
It seems my grandfather had provided financial support to my uncle behind our backs.
My grandfather said, "I helped him when he started his business and when his company was failing, so we're even," but—I still don't know the truth.

After my grandfather died, my uncle came to the house my brother had purchased.
To us, who had lived in rented houses until then, he said this:

"You're living well, aren't you."

I still can't forget the look on his face at that moment.
Perhaps my uncle had "wanted us to stay unhappy forever."

With my grandfather's death, my relationship with my uncle collapsed decisively.

And then—
When the news arrived that he had died at the young age of 50.
Enclosed were a "notice of renunciation of inheritance" from his surviving family and a demand letter for his debts.

Whenever I think about my uncle and my cousin, I just can't bring myself to feel like I want to "start a business."
I can only think about self-preservation now. But—
I do want to make a home where my son can do what he wants and always have a place to return to when he's tired. I want to protect that kind of "safe place."
Thinking about my uncle makes it hard to breathe.
Writing this was also very painful.
But I wrote this because I wanted to convey that independence, starting a business, and the title of business owner—which can look so glamorous—are not "all good things."