The Emotional Isolation of Living in a Full House
What ever happened to predictability?
Growing up, I’d wake up at five o’clock in the morning to sneak into the guest room and watch reruns of Full House on a tiny TV. I envied how alive the fictional home was, filled with people, conversation, and antics. When I was six, my family moved a few hours away from our big fat Greek family, and it was the five of us on our own until my two siblings and I went off to college. Then the pandemic forced my siblings and me to move back home. But in the last few weeks, with my grandparents moving into our home, I’ve had to adjust to living in a multigenerational “full house.”
Throughout the past year, my father drove out from New Jersey to Long Island every week to care for his parents from Sunday through Wednesday. Juggling responsibilities from work, home, and his parents, all during a pandemic, left him emotionally drained. Over the last few years, I’ve witnessed Parkinson’s disease debilitate my grandmother. My 82-year-old grandfather stepped up as her main caretaker, and he lost his physical and mental strength in the process. He’s probably the most stubborn and sharp person I know. However, once he fell last month and sprained his wrist, he could no longer live alone with my grandmother. So, they moved in with us.
