“There have been bumps in the road and a lot of adjustments really quickly,” Mr. Harrell said. “But we’re here to work through the difficulties. We’re going to do everything we can.”

By September, three months after the move, Mr. Burns appeared to be settling in. He had found a favorite chair in the living room, a comfort zone beyond his bedroom. He started going to the refrigerator on his own when he was hungry. He began helping bring in the mail and take out the trash.

He seemed to enjoy the company of one of his housemates, a blind, wheelchair-bound man, and to feel more at ease at the day program in Cochran.

On one recent morning, Mr. Burns stunned the day program staff by dancing — a slow, methodical march — when some disco music was playing. He is still reluctant to participate in group activities, and he still makes himself vomit at times, but when someone greets him, he raises an arm in an awkward wave.

The staff hopes that Mr. Burns will become more comfortable in groups. His mother hopes he will learn to use a computer. No one knows how much progress he will make or what setbacks he may encounter. But there is no going back to the life he once knew.

Central State is mostly empty now. The building where Mr. Burns lived was shuttered in June when the last batch of the hospital’s developmentally disabled patients was finally discharged.

It is hard to know what Mr. Burns makes of his transformed existence. He is still a man without words, who watches silently as the currents of life swirl around him. But he certainly understands now that he has a place beyond those hospital walls.

These days, he gets himself dressed in the morning and rolls his wheelchair-bound housemate to the door of his new home, ready for the van ride to Cochran. The world is waiting.