When my non-verbal son was first diagnosed with autism, it felt like my world was ending. I couldn’t fathom how life would change or what it would mean for my family. There wasn’t a single outlook that felt good. At best, we could hope for a minor catastrophe, but it was a catastrophe nonetheless.

Television shows often portrayed children on the spectrum as destructive and detached, showing parents at their wits’ end, unable even to take a shower for fear their child might burn down the house. That palpable concern consumed me every moment of every day. Sinking into a spiral, I would disconnect from the present and envision every terrifying possibility on the horizon.

Today, more than a decade later, my son is 13. He has never spoken a word, and the checklist of skills I once thought essential for our future remains largely unchecked. So many things I believed were necessary to make life bearable are all missing.

Lucas doesn’t speak or demonstrate some life skills typically expected of a boy even half his age. There are gaps in understanding and fears over his own safety in some situations. Holidays, celebrations, and social gatherings seemingly mean very little to him. With the absence of words, his needs are sometimes hidden until he erupts with frustration. Those are all part of our present reality.

And yet, this kid is cool as hell. My life is perfect. I’m happier today than I ever was before he was born. My son, like his older neurotypical sister, completes my life in ways I never dreamed possible.

Some people read this statement wrong. They see it as a “chin up, old boy” type of statement. They assume that I’m putting a happy face on an awful story. I get why they think that, but they couldn’t be more wrong.

What Lucas has brought into our lives is the ability to face fear head-on and know that it will never equal the image our brains create for it.

Think about it. For years, I dreaded having a child my son’s age with the type of “disabilities” doctors, relatives, and Facebook memes warned me about. Every day closer to today was a day closer to an unimaginable world.

Yet, we’re here and we’re great. In fact, Lucas is beyond great. My son is unlike anyone else’s kid. Even other non-verbal kids with autism aren’t the same as mine because, as most parents will tell you, autism is unique for everyone. The boy I have in my life is purely who he wants to be.

My boy doesn’t follow TV shows just because some kid at school told him to. He doesn’t eat foods we eat in order to seem “cool.” He doesn’t dress up to impress a group of children. That’s not my son.

Lucas is Lucas. Whatever he tells himself to be, he is. Is that always a convenient thing? No. Sometimes he tells himself to be naked at 3 in the afternoon. That’s something we work on preventing.

But overall, he’s his own person, and I’ve never respected a person’s outlook on life like I respect his. My non-verbal son is the most distinct and true boy I’ve ever known. That’s not a happy face in a sad situation. That’s 100% truth backed up by genuine observation, emotion, and honesty.

All that being said, Lucas plays into another life lesson that I’ve come across more and more as I’ve gotten older. It’s possible to be so wrong about something you were so sure about.

I was convinced that having a special needs child was going to be my downfall. I didn’t believe in myself, my ability to raise him, or the fact that he would ever be able to share a relationship with me. My visions for today was not only wrong but the complete opposite of what it turned out to be.

And because of that, my son has given me the gift of peace.

Having experienced all this, I now know that there’s really nothing to be afraid of…ever. Sure, things might be hard in life, but until you’re going through them, you’re never really sure what they are or how hard they’ll be.

You also learn that you can handle anything that comes your way. Emerging on the other side of a terrifying fear, only to find yourself stronger than you believed, brings a confidence and serenity that’s unmatched. It presents you with a sense of peace that I would never have guessed would have come into my life, especially in the way it did.

The autism appreciation I write about is not a silver lining on a rain cloud. It’s the beautiful rainbow that the world is too blind to see. Lucas showed me that rainbow, and now, because of him, I want to share it with everyone else.