My daughter spends too much time alone staring out of her bedroom window. She’s isolated and cut off from anything close to her own community. Her caregivers are her friends. She says she’s happy reading her books and talking to her dolls in her room, but I want more for her.
I want more for me.
I’m tired. That’s the real truth. My body simply can’t keep up this pace of working full time and caring for her needs full time. I need sleep.
My longing for rest makes me feel guilty.
After numerous panic attacks and one complete breakdown, I decided to look for a group home for her. During a meeting with the Regional Center, the organization that provides supports for people with developmental disabilities, I requested they find an appropriate group home for her. I knew it could take years because group homes have waiting lists and not every home would be right for my daughter.
An appropriate home was found in two days.
My daughter moves in at the end of this month.
When I told her, she cried. She doesn’t want to leave her princess room with her Cinderella quilt and all of her dolls. I told her she could take all of her things with her but she’s not convinced. She says she’ll miss her friends. Her friends will visit, I said. And I’ll spend lots of time with her too. We’ll still see each other, we just won’t be living in the same house.
She said she doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
We visited the home, which is only twenty minutes away. Another blessing being so close. Sometimes people move to homes hours away, but my daughter will be close enough for me to come whenever she needs me. The home is lovely and the people who work there are very kind. My daughter made friends in ten minutes with two of the women who live there. It’s a good match.
My daughter still isn’t sure she likes this idea, but I’m determined it will happen. She will live there for the summer and if it really doesn’t work out after a few months she can move back in with me and we’ll figure something else out. We have to give this home a try.
As we prepare for her move in just two weeks, I pray I’m not making the wrong decision. I am guilt ridden and worried that I’m causing her harm. Change is hard, I remind myself. I have cared for all of her needs for 29 years. Now I’m handing that care to someone else and I find that letting go of the control and vigilance is terrifying.
If anything happens to her…
What if this is actually the best decision I could make for her? What if this turns out to be a wonderful thing for us both? Those are the questions I need to be asking as I reorganize both of our lives.