Yesterday my day started like any other. I walked the dog, made coffee, and tossed a load of laundry, left by our overnight caregiver, into the washing machine. I chatted with our morning nurse, and later in the morning, had coffee with friends – all of whom are moms of kids with complex disabilities. In the afternoon I worked away at the proposal for my doctoral research. Last evening I attended a meeting at my son’s school to learn about international trip opportunities for senior students. My youngest is applying to be part of the European exchange and he’s pretty stoked. In short, it was a day a lot like any other day in my suburban, extreme caregiving existence.
Except it wasn’t. Yesterday marked the day that Matthew moved to a group home.
Because Matthew has been spending time at this group home for respite he already had a stash of clothing and supplies at the home. Other than packing meds, we didn’t need to spend a lot of time yesterday moving him or his belongings. Over the next month or so I imagine that we will spend some time making his bedroom more “him”, but yesterday Matthew was simply picked up from his day program, and instead of coming home he went to his group home.
People keep asking me how I feel. The truth? I don’t know. Right now I seem to be in that initial shock stage of grief. At least that is the stage I learned about years ago in undergrad. The stages of grief may well have been modified by now! There is a sense of not feeling anything at all. I can recite all sorts of rational reasons why this move is the the good and right thing to do at this stage of our journey with Matthew. And honestly, that is what I have been doing when people ask me how I feel. My guess is there will probably be a blog post about group home placements, transitions, and all that stuff, not far off in the future. You all can look forward to that!
But feeling something? Nope. I don’t seem capable of that today.