I’m putting my extremely profoundly disabled son into a group home. I can’t handle this anymore.

Sorry for the long post. I’ll preface by saying that I absolutely love my child with all my heart. He’s such a joy to be around when he’s not so… much. He’s a happy boy, and he’s usually in a good mood, and everyone loves him. But I realize now that I 100% chose to have him because of those reasons, and that’s wrong. Everyone should be cherished and loved and cared for no matter what. I know this is true in my heart, but I could never stop and fully realize it until recently.<br><br>He’s an angel, I think. I’m sure of it. <br><br>He was born very healthy and happy, and then at six months old, he contracted a rare disease that completely paralyzed him and destroyed half of his brain. He was in a coma for months, and we were told to make our goodbye, that he would never be more than a shell of a baby. And here he is now, at almost six, able to sit up, and interact, although very minimally, with us and his environment.<br><br>He’s able to use his legs a tiny bit to push himself around, and he’s able to hold onto things to keep his balance. We were able to get him a tiny, barely containing smile, and even the tiniest grunts when he’s upset or excited. And he’s able to make eye contact, sometimes. Not often, but he does. But it’s always the same empty expression, like he’s looking right through us. He has a GTube for nutrition, and an NG tube for whatever reason, and a colostomy. He can’t swallow anything, and has never been able to. He’s on a lot of medication to control his seizures. And he’s a finicky SOB, always wanting things his own way, even when he doesn’t really know what he wants. And he’ll never change or learn or grow or become anything more than what he already is. <br><br>And I respect and understand all of that. Like I said, I love him with all my heart. But I can’t do this anymore.<br><br>He’s gotten bigger, and he’s harder to care for every day. He’s so heavy for what he looks like, and he’s so strong, even though he’s barely a shadow of a baby. And he’s mean when he wants to be, although he’s mostly just selfish and rude. I can’t even imagine what he’ll be like in another ten years. He’ll be a grown man, and I’m expected to care for him until my die, and I cannot do that. It’s too hard for me physically, I think mostly, but it’s too hard for me mentally and emotionally as well. And I know that he’ll be better off in an environment where he can be cared for around the clock by professionals who actually know how to care for a child like him. <br><br>I honestly feel so ashamed and guilty of thinking any of this, but I know it’s what I have to do. And it’s already been approved, and he’ll be moving in the beginning of next year with seven other children and teenagers with severe disabilities. Most of them are non-verbal and unable to sit, unable to use their extremities, etc. And I know that he’ll be happier there, and I know that it’s what’s best for him. <br><br>But I’m so sad and heartbroken over the idea of not seeing him everyday. He’s my baby boy, and I’ve always imagined that he would grow up to be my boy, my buddy, my friend. And I always knew that I’d always be there for him, for whatever he needed. But now, I know that I won’t. And I know I’ll miss him so much, and I know I’ll always regret not being strong enough to continue this journey. And I know I’ll never love another child the way I love him. And I know I’ll never find another child to fill the void he’ll leave. <br><br>It’s actually crazy how much peace I feel in saying this all, and writing it all out. Maybe this has been the choice all along. Maybe this is what was meant to be, and I’ve been stupidly fighting against it. But I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve made my decision, and I’m going to follow that decision, and hope that everything turns out for the best. <br><br>I don’t know what this post will do, but I feel so strange and clean and empty, like I’ve been carrying around something heavy for so long, and finally someone has taken it from me. And I feel free. And I know whatever happens, I can handle it. <br><br>Thanks for listening.