A Close-Knit, Loving Family Environment Is Life's Greatest Treasure

My mother had five siblings who loved each other all their lives. In my more than forty years of memory, they have never once quarreled—a true zero record. My second aunt and my mother married into the same village; when I was small, my mother went to my second aunt's house almost every day to sit for a while. The two sisters chatted endlessly, often giggling away; I really do not know how they could talk so much. I did not previously realize how precious this was, but now that my work brings me into contact with a large number of patients with psychological or psychiatric problems, I have come to realize how rare this atmosphere in my mother's family was. Because those patients basically share one common feature: their family members do not get along.

When my mother died, my fourth uncle hurried back from out of town for the funeral. At the funeral he said to me sorrowfully: "Zhiyuan, all my life I have treated your mother not as a sister-in-law, but as a mother. Your father may be my second older brother, but I was never as close to him as I was to your mother."

My mother's compassion, optimism, easygoing nature, humor, and wisdom were praised by all the neighbors. Whenever I return to my hometown, neighbors who mention my mother always say with infinite regret that she was everyone's shared joy; that her early passing was their greatest loss; and that since she left, their own lives have less delight. This deep neighborly bond is an intangible treasure my mother left me. Even today, when I return to my hometown, neighbors still often bring some of their homemade delicacies to my house for me to taste, because my mother used to interact with them this way when she was alive.

Throughout my mother's life, she never once exchanged a cross word with my spouse. My wife once said that, when my mother was alive, perhaps feeling that the washing machine did not get the clothes clean enough, she would secretly rewash them by hand; once she was accidentally spotted by her daughter-in-law and gave an embarrassed, warm little smile—that expression was particularly endearing and funny. The two of them got along like mother and daughter, which saved me a great deal of trouble. After all, my mother and I lived together for a long time in a small Beijing apartment; if there had been mother-in-law/daughter-in-law conflict in my family, I would have had a terrible headache.

This closeness among my mother's siblings did not disappear with her passing. My youngest aunt, second aunt, and uncle are still alive; they remain as close as ever to one another, and as close as ever to me. In the first three years after my mother died, whenever I saw her siblings I could not help thinking of her, and the moment I thought of her the tears would flow.

The moment my youngest aunt and second aunt saw me cry, they would stroke me or put their arms around me, weeping with me and comforting me, murmuring: "Child, don't cry; your mother on the other side would not want you to be so sad." When I was upset, my aunts did not call me nephew or use my childhood nickname; they called me "child," "darling," "precious one." I was already middle-aged, yet I did not find these terms cloying in the least.

My youngest aunt's family now lives in Shanghai. Occasionally, when we both return to our hometown for the Spring Festival, she will, like an excited child, lead the whole family in a grand procession over to my house for a gathering. In our area, Spring Festival visiting between relatives has become a formality: one representative from each household makes the rounds, covering over a dozen relatives' homes in a single morning and calling that New Year visits. But my youngest aunt brings my youngest uncle, my female cousin and her husband, my male cousin and his wife, and the young cousins—really the whole nest—to pay New Year visits at my house. The young cousins arrive like bandits entering a village, rummaging through boxes and cabinets and running wild in the courtyard; minor and major damage is inevitable.

They say that when I was small, my youngest aunt ran a small shop in her village and I loved going there to mooch food and drink. When she asked whether I loved her, I would loudly declare that I loved her when she gave me snacks, and the adults would roar with laughter at such amusing childish talk. Today, when my male and female cousins' children come to my place, they are just as relaxed and unruly. They climb all over me, pestering me to play all kinds of games with them. These children will undoubtedly grow up psychologically healthy.

Not one of my mother's siblings was anything but an optimist; they all have loud voices and frequently burst into hearty laughter. City dwellers might find them noisy, but I love this kind of family environment. Because the siblings are united and loving, each of them seems to live utterly without fear; no matter how hard life gets, they never feel their lot is bitter, nor are they anxious or depressed.

My uncle's and second aunt's households, by other people's standards, are truly hard up, but I have never once heard them sigh; far from it, they both live with extraordinary cheer. A month before my mother's death, she gave me a long stream of final instructions, specifically mentioning that my second aunt and uncle were not well-off. I knew she could not let go, and immediately promised that, should they encounter difficulties, I would never stand idly by.

My aunt (uncle's wife) endured a lifetime of hardship with my uncle; on her deathbed she told him that, if there were a next life, she would still want to be his wife. I think this is probably due to my uncle's character. He is a generous, perpetually smiling optimist, devoted to his family, never abandoning his frail, sickly wife, and never quarreling in their life together. Such a man, though a little poor, is still very pleasing to his spouse.

This family spirit has passed to me; my partner, my family, and I almost never quarrel. An occasional argument would intrigue others. Once I said to my brother-in-law: "Your sister and I had a fight; she's in a bad mood." Before I finished, he said: "Brother-in-law, you actually quarrel with my sister? Why didn't you call me over to watch the fun? That's such a rare sight; you should have invited me to see the novelty."

My maternal grandfather passed away early, and I do not know him well, but for my mother's siblings to be so harmonious, I think my grandfather must have been a remarkable man.

A couple of years ago, I rode my bicycle out to my grandfather's village to revisit the place; I had not been there for over thirty years, because my uncle had moved out of the village long ago. The uncle's family first stayed in a relative's county-town apartment, then later built their own house in a village near the county seat, so the old house my grandfather left had fallen into ruin. As I wandered around the old site, a few elderly villagers gathered around asking who I was looking for. When I told them who my mother was, they immediately became very warm toward me.

One elderly woman had vivid memories of my grandfather; I asked her to tell me what he was like. She recounted many stories, saying my grandfather was the cleverest man in the village, loved reading, was well-versed in the Yijing (Book of Changes), and was tolerant, magnanimous, easygoing, and approachable. As she spoke, she told me: "You look so much like your grandfather." Later, at my uncle's house, I compared a photograph of my grandfather with one of myself and found that, indeed, I looked very much like him.

My older brother called me an incurable blind optimist long ago. Although I have had a low spell or two in my life, I did indeed come out quickly. Moreover, even in the depths I was not easily broken; this is thanks to that genetic advantage and to the intimate family atmosphere on my mother's side. The quality I am most praised for at work today is my strong approachability; this approachability has both a genetic basis and a postnatal family basis. The example set by my mother's siblings was enormous.

In fact, there seems to be no secret at all to why my mother's siblings were so united, loving, and easygoing. I never heard any of them swear or use coarse language; they never nitpicked at one another, never fixated on each other's faults, and always remembered each other's good points. Dealing with my mother's relatives is very easy and comfortable, because I never hear any of them blaming heaven and earth or venting dissatisfaction with others or with life. Even when others feel my uncle has had a hard life, every year when I visit him for New Year, he still paints me pictures of all the good things to come and expresses immense satisfaction with his life; he has a confidence and bravery utterly disproportionate to his age.

This virtuous cycle within the family has affected almost all descendants of the clan; my cousins and I are mostly open-minded and optimistic, and all quite approachable. My female cousin's mouth is so sweet it could rot your teeth; she was my little shadow when we were small, and remains so now that we are both middle-aged. She loves trailing after me, chattering away "brother this, brother that," laying on the flattery—the rainbow compliments she blows are truly ceiling-tier. I have no doubt that if we spent a few days together she could inflate her older cousin right up to the sky.

If I am out somewhere and someone's cutting words shatter my self-esteem, I believe that spending a morning with my cousin can repair me good as new; she is fully qualified to work as a psychologist. My three older female cousins are the same, except that, because of the age gap, they are not as close and lively in front of me as my younger cousin.

I now deal with many patients with depression and anxiety; what strikes me most is that their families have fallen into a vicious cycle from which they cannot escape. Family members frequently attack and wound one another with extremely cutting language; nonviolent communication is far too difficult for them. This habit makes them, in dealings with outsiders, also involuntarily burst into profanity. Thus their interpersonal relationships are tense, and it is hard for them to maintain lasting emotional bonds. Most psychologists and psychiatrists would agree.

If this vicious cycle within such patients' families could be broken, their symptoms would ease greatly, and some might even recover completely. Growing up in such a malicious environment, a person becomes sensitive and fragile, finds it hard to trust others, fears social contact, fears being judged, and fears forming close relationships.

We often say that a secure partner can cure all kinds of psychological illnesses and greatly improve such patients' quality of life. The reason is simple: a secure partner provides precisely the kind of harmonious interpersonal environment found in my mother's family, which can enormously relieve the psychological and mental pressure on patients. Given time, it will change such patients' verbal and behavioral habits and repair their wretched mood.