Death of a distant relative

He died yesterday, having seen only 63 years in this world.  For as long as I remember seeing him, he was unemployed--his siblings helped him, financially.  He was the youngest of five children and a darling to his mother, especially after he suffered from polio and could only walk on one leg.  His mother won't let him do anything on his own.  She was there to bring him food and even hand-feed him, quite late in his life.  What did so much love do to him?  It spoiled him.  He never got any good education; never learned any trade.  But things were OK as long as the loving mother was there.  No one lives forever.  One day his mother died.  He was viciously thrown in the reality of life. Suddenly he was on his own, and he was not well-prepared to be on his own.  He did odd jobs: factory work, night time security duty, and other chores that did not require any education or skill.  But then as he grew older, his health grew poor.  He could not work any longer. He stayed at home, doing nothing.  His brothers, and sometimes his sisters, gave him money for him to sustain himself.  He lived like that for many years and then died one day.  Ever since I got the news, I have been thinking about him and the kind of life he lived.  Did he live such a wasteful life only because he lived in Karachi?  Living in a developed world, had his life been a bit different, better, more meaningful?  I wish I had the answers.