Living close to family can be both a blessing and a curse. Maintaining your personal space can be difficult.
You want your freedom, but it may not be easy to avoid . . .
A Family Affair
Michael and I sat at the kitchen table staring off into space. Then I glanced at the calendar propped up on the windowsill. It read, “March 18, 2014.” I shook my head wondering how time can pass so quickly.
I turned toward Michael and murmured, “Michael, we’ve lived in the Bay Area for over forty years. We live in a nice community and Marin County is great. I love our two-story, five-bedroom house. And living with our four wonderful daughters was a blessing—until they left for college. We should be living the dream, but . . .
“Yeah we should be, Gayle, . . . but who could have predicted that our four grown girls and their children and thirty-eight other relatives, all on your side of the family, would move into housing developments within three miles of our home. Your parents, both over eighty-three, and aunts, uncles, and cousins, of every age, size, and shape sometimes make our life a living . . .
“Don’t say it, Michael. I love my family with a passion.”
“I know you do.”
“But . . .”
“But what, Gayle?”
“At times, I feel trapped.”
“Trapped? What do you mean by that?”
“Remember when I had to go to Urgent Care three weeks ago.”
“Yes, I do. So what?”
“Well, the doctor on duty was my cousin, Carl. And three of the patients in the waiting room were my Uncle Sal, Aunt Lucille, and cousin Barry. I felt like I was at a family reunion.”
“Okay, isn’t that a good thing? They were all very friendly, weren’t they?”
“Friendly? You call telling me about how every part of their body ached being friendly. I was there because my stomach was so bloated I thought it was going to burst. And their moaning and groaning only made my problem worse. I just wanted to be left alone—have some privacy.”
“They’re your family, Gayle. Don’t they mean well?”
“You’re not hearing me, Michael. Just listen to me. On our date nights, you and I have gone to nice, quiet restaurants to have a romantic meal—alone. However, we usually are surrounded by a minimum of six relatives. We do kiss and hug a lot, but with the relatives—not each other. That’s not right.”
“I hear what you’re saying, dear. Let’s give it some time and see if things change.”
“Time? I’ll be gone by then. And I don’t mean moved.”
Michael didn’t say anything. I suspect because he didn’t have an answer, he just tried to ignore the subject.
The visit to Urgent Care did have one positive aspect. Cousin Carl prescribed some over-the-counter medication for me and within three days I was feeling like myself again.
Then, on our next date night, things didn’t go any better than usual. Our table for two, in a dark corner of MacAbees, turned into a table for eight, with Michael sitting at one end and me at the other. It was a total disaster.
As we drove home from the restaurant, Michael looked over at me and said, “Honey, you seem troubled. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. . . . Well, maybe I do.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m being smothered to death. I’m sixty-three years old, and my family is overwhelming me. . . . I want to move,” she gasped.
“Move? Move where?”
“A retirement community—far away from Marin County. One where I can gain the independence I’ve never had.”
“Okay, then let’s do it.”
“You mean it?”
“Yes, I do.”
And he did. We moved to our retirement community in Placer County, called “Sunrise On The Green,” ten years ago.
On a beautiful, sunny morning, as Michael stood looking out the living room window, I approached him with a smile on my face.
“Good morning, Michael. And happy ten-year anniversary living in our wonderful community.
“What? Happy?”
“We’re happy most of the time, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, if we stay clear of the community politics that can cause you to live on Valium and don’t get too involved with the idiocy of the Homeowners Association.”
“Well we’re doing that, aren’t we? We’re keeping busy and avoiding . . .”
“Sure, I like playing pinochle. Dominoes, not so much.”
“But we do go out to dinner a lot and go to a play every other month. And the community bus trips we take are fun. We have a full, contented life.”
“I think so,” Gayle. That’s what we moved here for. It is the way we pictured retirement, . . . until recently, that is.”
“All right, until recently,” Gayle moaned.
“Yup. Then something we hadn’t anticipated happened. Our four daughters and their families came to live with us.”
“Well, not exactly live with us, darling . . .”
“Yeah, but close enough. Kim lives just two miles away. We can’t take a walk without running into her. And Cassie brings our two ‘grandboys’ to our block all the time to play. She says it’s safer here. And we meet Laurie and Katie every time we go to a store or out to dinner.”
“But we do love our children, Michael? Don’t we?”
“Yes, we do, sweetheart. But our four girls visiting us together on a Sunday afternoon sometimes drives me absolutely crazy. This is why we left the Bay Area in search of the peace and quiet we had longed for. However, I guess we didn’t move far enough away.”
“I’ve got to agree with you. And don’t forget, three sets of my cousins, wives with husbands, also followed us to our retirement community.”
“I guess when we bought our home, Gayle, we purchased ‘The Family Plan.’”
Copyright © 2024 Alan Lowe. All rights reserved.
