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Communicating with your nonverbal child can be difficult at times. Luckily, there are many ways to bridge the gap.

Lucas and I have our own methods. The easiest avenue is his communication device. An iPad with the Proloquo app is all that’s needed when he wants to ask for pizza… or a quesadilla… or a sandwich… or, well, you get the idea. My boy uses it for food.

It can tell me other things, but he rarely uses it for that. Lucas loves to request food with it, and he’s found that he can be specific about what food that would be. It makes him happy, and I’m glad we have it.

Gestures are another tool in our arsenal. Sure, there’s pointing, but it goes deeper than that. Whether bumping two fists together for “more” or touching his mouth for “eat,” my son and I know how to pantomime certain things to each other. Of course, a lot of that is about food, too. This kid likes food.

Still, it’s helpful, although it fails to dig below the superficial stuff most times. We don’t have hand signals for happy, just as he never uses the “sad” button on his AAC device. Many techniques that people would assume come with communication for us are limited to needs.

So, how do I know he’s happy, sad, angry, or tired? What gives me deeper insight into my son when words aren’t available?

Time.

What? Yes. Time.

I know Lucas. I’ve known him for all 14 years of his life. I watched him grow since he was smaller than a football. The person he is today is the culmination of our time together. His struggles and achievements have both happened in real time. I’ve been by his side the whole time.

I get him. I know my son, just as I know his neurotypical sister. Nonverbal, while complicated at times, isn’t as big of a deal to a parent who can understand their kid without words.

Think about it. If my daughter is having a bad day, I can usually figure it out. She’ll be quieter than usual or scowling on her phone. I can just tell. I love her and know when something is bothering her. When you love someone, it’s just part of the equation.

The same can be said for Lucas. He’s my boy and, in the absence of words, there are things I can pick up simply by intuition.

People who ask about the ways we communicate sometimes forget about that option. Lucas might be my nonverbal child, but he’s still my child. We don’t need to be informed, step-by-step, about what our kids want. Sometimes – often times – we just know.

Last week was a prime example of this. We had a moment that, as it happened, I realized was a good way to demonstrate that innate understanding.

One aspect of Lucas’s personality that can be tied to autism is his unwavering love of certain shows or toys. When other kids have long outgrown Sesame Street, my teenager still tunes in on his iPad. He holds on to things he loves and, even when they disappear for a while, they’re welcomed back with open arms. My son doesn’t roll his eyes or consider himself “too cool” for anything.

When Lucas was little, one of his favorite toys was his Jack-in-the-Box. I remember teaching him to turn the dial and hear the tones play out with each rotation. Slowly, he’d spin it around until the puppet would pop out.

He didn’t cheer or clap. Rather, he just watched intently. It looked like he was doing a scientific study. Nothing makes me smile more than watching how serious he can appear during times like this.

When I found the old Jack-in-the-Box in our storage room last week, I put it in his room. As soon as I did, he found it. I could hear the tones playing out in his room. I smiled.

That night, I could tell he was tired. Much like other emotions, I can sense when Lucas is ready for bed. The nonverbal bedtime cues are easy to read when you’ve been around them for a decade and a half.

I took away his iPad, filled his water cup, and gave him a kiss goodnight. He looked sweet tucked into his blanket. I closed the door and gate behind me as I left.

A few feet into the hallway, I could hear the tune of Pop Goes The Weasel playing out in slow metallic pings. As I mentioned, it made me smile.

The song repeated a few times and I was surprised that he was still playing, rather than snoozing. After all, he was pretty exhausted. Why is he still popping the weasel instead of counting sheep?

That’s when Lucas showed up at his door. Holding his Jack-in-the-Box over his gate, he looked at me with a heartbreaking expression on his face. He didn’t say a word, but I totally understood what he was saying.

His face said, “Please take this from me. I am tired, but I can’t stop playing with it when it’s in my room.”

My heart melted as he handed it to me. I kissed the top of his head and he returned to bed. Within minutes, he was out cold.

Everything about that interaction was quintessentially Lucas. Every aspect came down to me knowing my son. Without the time we put in, none of it would have made sense.

From recognizing the look on his face to understanding that he needed me to take away the temptation for him, it was the type of thing that only a parent could know. Or more specifically, the type of thing a parent could know after years of listening without hearing a word.

That’s what people sometimes miss about raising a nonverbal child. It’s not about devices or gestures or signs. It’s about time. It’s about knowing the person so well that you don’t always need an explanation.

When the moment comes, he looks at me without saying a thing, and I know exactly what he needs – that’s how I know we’re still speaking the same language.

My Non-Verbal Son is a Teenager, Not “Mentally 6” – Here’s Why That Matters

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