"There are small noticeable rays of light reflecting off the rolls of rain." 

-- Daniel's typed description of a picture from a rainy day, 3/8/2018

My son Daniel is 14.  He was diagnosed with autism at age 3.  He cannot speak or write.  

There is no way to describe the sadness that comes from not knowing what your child is thinking, not knowing what lies behind his cries or even what is inspiring a laugh.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, you push back the disappointment that comes from never seeing the first wave hello of baby fingers, much less hearing a first word or song, and you begin to study your child with unyielding intensity, with the hope that you can learn enough about him to make him happy.

You study him with a passion that surpasses anything else you have done in life.

You seize the things that make him happy and fill his every day with them.  

But your heart is always carrying the burden, the guilt, the grief ....

of not knowing, not fixing, not hearing the words that you imagine are inside his head.

You have days where hope is beyond you, and you wonder if you will ever get it back.

This blog is for families who know that feeling  (and for anyone who would like to feel inspired).

I want you to know just how much things can change, even after you think they probably never will.  

For 14 years, Daniel's communication with me consisted mostly of head nods and shakes to yes/no questions, a few word approximations, and the forms of communication parents of "nonverbal" kiddos cling to -- bringing to me the box of mac and cheese, grabbing my purse and keys when he wanted to go, pulling up pictures on my phone that represented something he wanted to say.     

But today is a new day.

Using a keypad with letters in alphabetical order on his I-pad, my son can finally give me insight into his world. 

It was far from easy.  I am not sure I ever will know all the reasons why it was so difficult, but Daniel has learned to type.  

I once wondered how much he understood.

He understands it all.

I wondered if he cared about things like Halloween costumes.

He does.

I wondered if he would ever be able to tell us if he was in pain.

He can.

And I wondered if he would understand the concept of death well enough to not think I abandoned him when my time comes to leave this world.

He understands it as well as any of us can, and as my family mourns the recent deaths of my parents,  I know just how deeply Daniel grieves the loss of his Gram and Granddad.

I know that my son's head is filled with words.  

It always has been.  

Today his fingers still do not wave or write with a pen, but they type beautiful sentences. 

Every word is a gift.

It was a struggle to get here, and it still is a work in progress with bumps along the way, but every day the window into my son's fascinating mind is opening a little more.  

I would like to share his story with people who love someone on the autism spectrum, and, most importantly, with parents seeking to reclaim a ray of light.