Patricia Mitchell was newly widowed, still grieving and adjusting to living alone after 50 years of marriage, when her daughter, Emily Mitchell-Marell, called last March. It was the early days of the coronavirus pandemic and lockdowns. Ms. Mitchell-Marell had recently given birth to a baby girl. She also had a 4-year-old son, and the schools in Brooklyn, where she lives, had been closed.

Ms. Mitchell, a 74-year-old retired family therapist, heard the stress and panic in her daughter’s voice. “Having a baby, a job, a son and a pandemic was completely overwhelming to her,” she said. “Emily asked to come here.”

And so, in the kind of surprising life upheaval the pandemic has made almost commonplace, Ms. Mitchell’s youngest daughter, her son-in-law and two grandchildren moved into her rambling old house outside Woodstock, N.Y. Eleven months later, the family is still there, eating dinner together every night and amazed to be doing so.

“I have not spent this kind of time with Emily in 20 years,” Ms. Mitchell said. Her tone was that of someone who had received a complicated gift.

Last July, a remarkable survey by the Pew Research Center found that more than half of people between the ages of 18 and 29 were living with their parents. Not since the Great Depression had so many adult children dwelled at home. It wasn’t only young adults, either. Job losses, school closings or other pandemic-induced reasons have driven many older children like Ms. Mitchell-Marell, who is 40, back to the nest.

Because the young dominate the public’s attention, and because they own the bully pulpit of social media, the demographic phenomenon has been told largely from their viewpoint. The consensus attitude was perhaps best expressed by the young woman who made a TikTok set to the tune of “New York” by Alicia Keys, describing her quarantine with her mom and dad in the ’burbs. Sample lyric: “My parents won’t let me use their car/My friends all live too far/Twenty-five minutes from Dallas, Dallas, DALL-ASSSSSS!!!!!!!!”

But as a middle-aged woman named Randi Cohen, whose 30-year-old daughter moved home to Columbus, Ohio, last spring, said, in what sounded like mild aggrievement, “There is another side to all of this.” Ah, yes, the side that doesn’t express themselves on TikTok.

Imagine you have dutifully raised your children and released them into the world, growing accustomed to infrequent visits around the holidays, and then suddenly they’re back, a decade or more later, sleeping in their old bedrooms and sacking the fridge. It’s the sort of whiplash plot Hollywood movies are built on. Yet for millions of parents during the pandemic, it became a reality.

Whether it played as a domestic comedy or psychological thriller depends on individual family dynamics. But every parent-child relationship is, to varying degrees, an emotional minefield. Navigating it successfully only grows harder when the child living in your house is all grown up: How do you make a 30-year-old pick up his dirty laundry?

Getting Reacquainted

Reflecting on her experience over the past year, Ms. Mitchell expressed both gratitude and fatigue. She’s had the chance to observe, up close, her daughter’s happy marriage and mature approach toward work and motherhood, which has been gratifying as a parent. Helping raise her granddaughter from birth has been “really a treat,” and a welcome distraction from her grief and loneliness. Her son-in-law became the man of the house, doing chores and repairs.

But living in a crowded, active, child-centered household again at her age can be exhausting. “There’s more food shopping and dishes and cleaning and laundry,” Ms. Mitchell said. “The noise level. The house wakes up very early. The level of activity is a bit shocking to my system, if you want to know the truth.”

Parents have had to make adjustments of all kinds, as they welcome back children whose lives may have diverged widely from their own, and of which they may have only a vague idea. Empty nesters, they’ve been plunged back into hands-on parenting and asked to fulfill seemingly exotic requests.

“He has a trainer that he works with and this trainer also has a specific diet” for him, said Janet Schaffler, 65, about her 34-year-old son, Kyle, who lives in Manhattan and came home to Indianapolis for two months at the start of the pandemic, and then again for weekslong stretches. Ms. Schaffler, who handles the cooking and shopping, found herself running what amounted to an Equinox juice bar out of her kitchen.

“Everything had to be weighed. It was high protein, no bad carbs,” she said. “I needed to go to Trader Joe’s to buy this, another supermarket for that,” on top of shopping and cooking for herself and her husband. “Making sure everyone had what they needed, I never had any rest.”

Ms. Cohen discovered that her daughter, Hannah Berkeley Cohen, while living in Cuba as a freelance journalist and tour guide, had evidently became a gourmet, because back home in Ohio, she now objected to her parents’ more simple meals.

“She comes in and she’s a foodie and she’s appalled by what we eat. We don’t spend an hour preparing food and adding sauces because that’s what she and her boyfriend do,” Ms. Cohen said. “We had some talks about, ‘This is how we live. If you want to make dinner for us, that’s lovely.’”

Bill Vien, 58, welcomed his daughter and son, both in their 20s, back home to Vermont for several months last year. His daughter, Corinne, co-hosts, “Two Girls One Ghost,” apodcast about ghosts and the paranormal. Mr. Vien and his wife were asked to maintain complete silence — no talking, no TV, not even shoes on the hardwood floors — while she recorded for three hours twice a week.

“My wife never lets laundry get ahead of her,” Mr. Vien said. “Of course, we have one of those washers and dryers that make a chime.”

For Diane Camara, whose 25-year-old son, Jared Alexander, an actor and writer, moved back into her home in Stratford, Conn., after the show he was scheduled to perform in was canceled, the adjustment was more internal, one of perception.

“When he came back, I went into mom mode. I was thinking to myself, ‘I’m taking care of you. What do you have to worry about, you’re just a kid,’” Ms. Camara, 50, said. “It took me a minute to realize, ‘No, he’s an adult. And he’s going through it just like I’m going through it. And in some ways worse than me. He’s the one displaced, he lost his tour.”

A Gift of Time

Indeed, these were not like the carefree stays of a summer home from college. Nor were they brief visits with the pressure release valve of a known end date. The children returned during a year of health risks, economic ruin and social and political upheaval, and with their own careers and adult responsibilities to manage through a global pandemic that has stretched on without end.

But once the shock of events wore off and everyone found a routine, many parents said they were brought closer to their grown children. For the first time in years, and with a different feeling, there were family dinners, game nights, watching TV together, exchanging ideas as mature adults.

“We drink a glass of wine and talk. We sit and watch movies,” Ms. Cohen, whose daughter remains at home, said. “We’ve never done that before. She can be a girlie girl, so she does my nails. It is lovely spending time with her.”

Last summer, Ms. Camara and her son planted a flower garden in her backyard, the first garden for both of them. “We just got out there. We worked together as a team really well,” Ms. Camara said.

A reluctant gardener initially, Mr. Alexander said watering the flowers and watching them slowly grow became a way to not only bond with his mother but come to terms with his interrupted life. He wrote an essay about the experience for a website.

“It helped me adjust,” he said. “This isn’t going to be two weeks, two months. It’s going to be awhile. It wound up turning into something special.”

There was, for parents, the added marvel of really seeing who their children had become as adults. Back under the same roof, they had a window into their children’s work and social lives and relationships.

Leroy Rutherford, 72, watched his daughter, Chrissy Rutherford, start a brand consultancy out of her childhood bedroom in Bedford, N.Y., where she’s been staying since giving up her apartment in Manhattan last April. He may complain about the dirty dishes Ms. Rutherford leaves in the sink, but he admires her work ethic.

“She gets up from 8 in the morning and starts working. And 7 or 8 at night, she’s still on her phone or her computer,” Mr. Rutherford said. “That was nice seeing her start up something of her own.”

Ms. Schaffler, the mother in Indianapolis, concurred. “You always think they’re never going to be able to grow up and cope by themselves,” she said. “Well, he can and he has. Just listening to him on his work calls. Not eavesdropping but just listening. He’s sounding just like his dad now. I could appreciate and be quite proud of that.”

More than anything, there was time. Precious, unexpected time.

In the summer months, Mr. Vien, his wife and two children would stop working each day and have lunch together on the deck. He got to watch his son and daughter, four years apart and usually living on opposite coasts, develop a tighter relationship over their stay. His daughter had gone off to college in California at 17 and stayed there during breaks to do internships, and Mr. Vien and his wife had felt time with her had been “stolen.” The pandemic gave it back.

Shannon Holtzman, whose grown daughters, Carolyn and Larkin, both returned home to New Orleans for several months (Carolyn remains there), echoed the sentiment. “I regret the pandemic and wish it had never happened,” Ms. Holtzman said. “But for us, this has been a gift. We’ll likely never have this time again.”

She marveled aloud, “This was the first birthday of mine where I had both daughters home since 2004.”

The Stuff of Comedy

If there could be a poster family for quarantining together during the pandemic, it would be the Glasers — that is, Nikki Glaser, a 36-year-old stand-up comedian and actress, and her parents, E.J. and Julie Glaser. When the pandemic struck, Ms. Glaser was in Los Angeles on a work trip. She had invited her parents along, and so she decided not to return to her New York apartment but to go back with them to her childhood home, in St. Louis. As the pandemic grew worse and her comedy gigs and other projects were canceled, she stayed.

“I thought this would destroy us, me living there for 10 months,” she said. “But I didn’t want to leave.”

Ms. Glaser has turned being back in her Midwestern childhood home as a single woman and famous person into an extended bit. In TV interviews, like one with Conan O’Brien last May, she appeared on Zoom from her father’s home office. When she guest-hosted Jimmy Kimmel Live!, in July, she booked her parents as the house band, cutting to them in their living room (Mr. Glaser plays acoustic guitar and Mrs. Glaser sings). A show Ms. Glaser had been writing before the pandemic, in which she gets canceled by the internet and has to move back home to St. Louis — “Which used to be some, like, kind of sci-fi thing,” she told Mr. O’Brien — became her lived experience.

Meanwhile, her parents have become minor celebrities through their appearances on TV and on her social media channels.

“I have 16,000 followers on Instagram,” Mr. Glaser said.

His wife chimed in, “He had two before this.”

More important, the couple have reconnected with their daughter, who for years saw her family infrequently as she built her comedy career on the coasts. “I’ve tried to get her to sing with me ever since she was a small child,” Mr. Glaser said. “She started learning guitar and we played and sang together a lot during the last few months.”

After 10 months living with her parents, Ms. Glaser recently moved out and rented her own apartment again — in St. Louis.

“I always argued that it was for the best,” Ms. Glaser said about choosing to live away from home. “This year has made me reflect upon what actually makes me happy. I love my family and I love being around them.”

Shifting Relationships

As the pandemic stretches on, some parents, including Ms. Mitchell, continue to house their grown children. Her newborn granddaughter is nearly one, and she and Ms. Mitchell-Marell are closer than ever. In fact, Ms. Mitchell-Marell and her husband are considering relocating to the Hudson Valley.

“I do want to be near her now in a way that wasn’t as important to me,” Ms. Mitchell-Marell said. “And I don’t want to separate her and my baby.”

Said Ms. Mitchell, “They wouldn’t have come back without the pandemic. I do think they’re going to find a place in the valley. And be nearby. And that will be very great.”

Other parents are empty nesters again.

Marilyn LaMonica, 76 and a psychoanalyst, welcomed her 48-year-old son, daughter-in-law and 5-year-old grandson into the Brooklyn house she shares with her husband for three months last spring.

At first, to be together seemed like a fantasy fulfilled, a return to the large Italian family of her childhood. But between cooking for five people three times a day, worrying about her loved ones getting the virus and balancing the competing needs of everyone in the house, the experience was something more complicated. Ms. LaMonica called those months “a blur” and “a bundle of mixed feelings,” summing up how other parents said they felt.

And yet, when it was over, and her son and his family returned to their Manhattan apartment, Ms. LaMonica admitted to a sense of sadness, as if she were letting her child go all over again.

“It’s not rational,” she said. “But I felt a very deep sense of loss.”

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