The whole reason my son was first diagnosed with autism was because I had no idea what was going on. I was a clueless, confused, and pretty frightened parent.
After all, my baby was growing physically but not hitting any major milestones. From rolling over to verbal language, Lucas was struggling every step of the way.
Those early days were filled with frustrated hope. People used to give mini pep talks even when I didn’t ask for one. Tell a friend or family member that your 18-month-old still hasn’t spoken and they will create all sorts of scenarios for you.
You know what? You’ll see. One day, you’ll walk into his room and he’ll say “Hi Dad!” You’ll see. You’ll see.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t see. Lucas is 14 years old and I still haven’t seen. He remains non-verbal to this day.
At this point, I normally talk about all of his positive traits and how language is more than the words from your mouth. I’d detail all the communication he has picked up in terms of tablets and gestures. You know the drill. That all goes here.
All of that, however, was unknown to me back then. For a new dad to a boy that was showing deficits across the board, there was no other communication than verbal. Delays were warnings from the universe that I, as his father, needed to “fix” this.
That was what I did for the next year or so. I’d try to figure out what missing piece fit into the puzzle that doctors were saying my child was. Even just hearing “autism” felt like a challenge more than a diagnosis. The professionals would say one thing and I’d take it like a homework assignment. Go heal your kid.
This is usually where I go into the autism appreciation paragraph. He doesn’t need fixing. He’s a wonderful soul. He’s the purest of people you’ll ever meet. All that. Also again, that wasn’t on my radar back when he was two.
It was this time period that really messes with a parent of a boy like mine. As I hoped for these dream scenarios to come true and language to spring out of his mouth, I had to start accepting reality. This initial delay might be a lifelong issue.
It is then that the frustration and concern turn to fear and worry. Now, rather than trying to pinpoint what I can do to “fix” a potentially unfixable situation, I was envisioning a future with all sorts of scenarios.
Would my son become fully non-verbal? How can this thing that most children learn within the first years take my son a lifetime to do? What would my life look like? What would my family look like? Am I failing my child? God, I felt like I was.
Here’s the thing. Even once I accepted his autism and learned to interact with him in ways that he could understand, I still worried. After all, he might be happy and smiling now, but what was coming up? What would a bigger version of the kid in my living room look like?
Worrying about the future is a unique issue because the best and worst part of it is the passing of time. On one hand, you’ll learn the true answer soon enough, if you wait. That’s the good part. The bad part is that you spend every day until you reach that point wringing your hands with concern.
Today, my boy doesn’t speak and has many of the struggles with life skills and comprehension that I feared he would. One could say that this is the worst-case scenario that I would have dreamed up a decade ago.
Yet, here we are, happy, healthy, and in a home filled with love. My son didn’t hit most of the milestones that I had mentally declared urgent, yet we’re all good. How is that possible?
Easy. The man he’s growing into is the man he’s meant to be. I’ve watched him step by step grow into his current self. I’ve seen all the good things and learned to work with the obstacles he still faces. We never stop teaching. We never stop learning. He and I make each other better every day.
Does it make me regret all my worries? Yes and no. On one hand, I feel bad for the concerns that consumed me back then. On the other, I’m his parent. What type of father wouldn’t bat an eyelash over a major shift in their child’s potential future? It’s natural.
Perhaps the biggest silver lining to those years of anxiety is that I am now living in the future I dreaded. I’ve seen that in order to be happy, nothing had to happen. He didn’t need to talk, dance, or drive a car. He just needed to be himself and, together, we have a wonderful life.
And that same thing will happen tomorrow… and the day after… and the day after.
It’s made the concerns for his adulthood, while still very real, less dire. I have the utmost faith in him to reach the highest achievements he’s capable of. I know that any milestones he misses won’t be for lack of effort.
But even if he doesn’t reach them, we’ll be fine. It’s already happened.
READ NEXT:
Autism Awareness Starts With Seeing My Son, Not Labeling Him
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