Three weeks ago, my adult son moved in with me for the third time. This revolving door to the parental home is a relatively new phenomenon of the last dozen years or so here in the US. Three major causes of this syndrome, I believe, are the dissolution of committed relationships such as marriage, job insecurity and the drug culture. My adult son has flirted with all of the above. The combined causes, not catastrophic in themselves, left him with a physically weakened heart, a depleted bank account and friendless. Where else can he turn?
The thought of sharing my three bed room, two bath apartment with another person gave me pause. However, my son is part of my life with my departed husband. And, sub-consciously, I chose to move into this apartment configuration in the event that my son might need a place to regroup. So far, things are going well,
Fortunately, my brain and body still function fairly well. I helped my son get disability assistance, which includes Medicare, an important help for a person with a weakened heart, diabetes, high cholesterol and manic/depression. I wrote up a rental agreement and a list of “living together” rules. Those rules include cleaning up after one’s self, keeping ones room and bath room orderly, leaving the apartment every day, getting a local job and being “nice” to this mother. Not only has my son complied, but also he does the dishes after meals and cooks at least once a week. Oh, yes, he does his own wash in the laundry on the first floor of the building. Also, he attends addiction prevention meetings once a week, along with therapy. All right, so I don’t have a daughter-in-law to go shopping with, nor a grand-baby to cuddle. But, in an age of relaxed morals and overdose deaths, I am content. Some days, I am down right happy!