People tend to remember their dreams much more than I do and theirs are always more detailed. I’m not sure if they keep dream journals or are just making it all up, but I always feel a little jealous.

My dreams rarely include people I am currently interacting with, which is bizarre. Family and friends hardly, if ever, make their way into my overnight movies. One reason I don’t recall them could be because the only times I remember my dreams are when they are bad, stressful, or have a visceral impact on me.

Even if I’m dealing with a hard time in my waking life, it almost never makes its way directly into my slumber. Instead, I’m trying to get to the top floor of a hotel with a friend I knew in college or I’m desperately running through a wrestling arena as Chris Jericho texts me that he has my car keys. It’s all weird.

Throughout my life, I can only recall one vivid dream that my children were in. Crazy, right? As a parenting writer who focuses so much on my kids, you’d think the little buggers would sneak their way in there more. They don’t.

Yet, when they did, it became the one dream that I’ve always remembered most. It affected me deeply and, almost immediately, I knew the meaning.

At the time, Lucas was barely four. My non-verbal son was already considered non-verbal and his autism was no longer in question. Those deals I made every year with God regarding his potential speaking ability were still happening at every birthday. I was worried about my son. Constantly.

I was still married and living in the same house the kids first came home from the hospital to. That was the setting for this one memorable, albeit short, dream.

The adults, unidentifiable around the dining room table, were preparing to watch a movie with the children. Both of mine were there, along with other faceless kids running around. My son was in the living room, playing with his usual toys. My daughter was in the dining room with me. She was the only face I could remember.

Someone said it was time to put the movie on and Olivia began asking for “movie snacks.” Suddenly, all the kids cheered and Lucas, from his spot in the living room, began to call out:

Movie snacks! Movie snacks!

As someone went to fetch these mystery treats and prep the video, Lucas continued chanting for “movie snacks.”

I watched from the table until the surprise washed over me and the dream-state version of me noticed what was happening. I called out to everyone.

Hey! Look! Lucas is talking! Are you guys hearing this? Lucas is talking.

He smiled at me and continued his chant. That’s when someone said, in the most deadpan voice you can imagine:

Yeah. He’s been talking this whole time. You just haven’t noticed.

And I woke up.

Breathless, I had that brief moment of confused awakening when you have to register that you were actually sleeping. When I took inventory of my reality and realized that his words hadn’t been happening in real life, I was sad. Just being honest.

For days, though, I thought about that closing line. Had he really “been talking this whole time”? Have I been too focused on how he wasn’t doing it to pay attention?

That hit me pretty hard and all at once, I got it. I understood the message. There was no need for deep analysis. This one’s meaning was splashed all over the front page.

Years later, I still get emotional remembering that. It was one of many “before and after moments” in my acceptance and understanding of Lucas’s non-verbal autism. Still struggling with what it meant and would look like for our family, I went to sleep that one night thinking that my son was locked away forever.

I woke up from that dream with a new respect for what “talking” meant. I understood and, once you understand, you understand forever – before and after.

If there are snacks on the agenda today, Lucas can tell me he wants them. Whether he takes my hand to lead me to the pantry, presses a button on his device, or simply lifts his hand to his mouth, my boy can tell me what he wants. He had been telling me the whole time.

Those who believe that non-verbal means no communication look at the term from a narrow point of view. You don’t need to say words in order to communicate. You just need someone to understand.

The problem wasn’t with Lucas. It was with me. I wasn’t listening in the right ways. My expectations were that he would eventually speak, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t speaking in his own way already.

Today, that’s how he still speaks. I know what he wants and I never discount his reactions. My son has the same motivations and desires that we all do. He just has his own way of telling you about them. Once I started listening to his actions and movements, instead of hoping for words, I suddenly was able to hear him.

I never dreamt about Lucas talking again after that. I didn’t need to. Ten years later, he’s still non-verbal, but he’s always tell me what he wants. I’m just happy that I made it a point to listen.