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I read something on Facebook the other day that was posted by a stranger. It was a memory that said: Lucas just said “da-da” for the first time.

The post was from October 2011. The stranger was me.

This was before my heart surgery. It was before my divorce. It was before I knew that autism would play such a huge role in my life.

What makes this post so bizarre is that today, Lucas, at age 14, has still never said his first word. He doesn’t call me “Dad” or even say “hi”. His communication is limited to his winning smile, pantomime hand-gestures, and robotic-voiced communication device. Da-da? Nah-nah.

So what the hell was that all about? Why did I write that? How is that possible?

I might not remember the person I was then fully, but I remember that time period as if it were yesterday. It’s timeless and ingrained in my mind. My brain was wracked with worry, broken up by mind-numbing video games, and all I could think about was how to “fix” my son. I also know why I wrote that.

What people don’t think about is that there’s no definitive word on when your child becomes nonverbal. It seems like such a common-sense statement, but it needs to be said.

If Lucas had lost his leg, that would be easy to pinpoint. It’s missing. The leg is gone. You know the problem and accept it straight away. You can focus on healing, helping, and adjusting.

The absence of language isn’t something that comes with a tipping point. You never know for sure. Your life is a perpetual waiting game and every single possible syllable is analyzed.

Looking back now can feel strange. I found a video of my son when he was less than two years old. Crawling on the floor, he was “saying” the phrase “Uh, oh”.

And there I was, behind the camera, reacting with jubilance. Every time he said it, I yelled back through laughter.

Yay! Lucas! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Ha! Do you guys hear him? He’s saying “Uh-oh!”

Spoiler alert: He wasn’t saying Uh-Oh.

What my son was doing was a vocal stim. To this day, he does the same thing. The sounds that come out don’t have meaning. He does it to soothe himself…as far as I can tell.

Typically, when I say this, someone who never met my son before will insist that he is saying words. They claim to know that he’s trying to talk.

He’s not.

I know this because Lucas is aware of what speaking is. At times, it intrigues him and, when you sit close enough and say things, he’ll study your face and sometimes touch your lips. It’s cute, albeit a bit gross at times.

As for vocal stims, he still does them. It’s not like speaking in tongues or even babbling. Lucas lets out sounds of excitement that resemble groans or my elementary school music teacher, Mr. Greenlee, teaching us the sounds of notes. It’ll be “Ah” and vary tones as we go.

Sometimes, though, those stims sound like words. “Uh oh” is just one example.

I’ve mentioned it before, but my son, just like he did in November of 2011, sometimes lands on “da-da”.

Again, strangers comment, “Oh, he’s calling you. He definitely is.”

He’s not.

I know because I still stop short each time and encourage him to repeat it purposely. I’ll be driving along and shout out to my son in the backseat.

Lucas! Da-da! You did it. Say it again. Da-da! I’m Da-da! You do!

And he will immediately go silent. It’s unbelievable. From Screamy-Mimi to a church mouse in a second. Suddenly, he has nothing to say.

If I persist, he will then slowly touch his mouth while staring at me. The repetition doesn’t happen and the moment I drop my request, he’s off on another game of vocal gymnastics complete with da-da, uh-oh, and all the rest.

At times, I’ll push on. When he was younger, it would break my heart because after the initial touching of his own mouth, to see him he grow seemingly frustrated. When his facial expression changed and his taps became faster, I let it go. Seeing this kid even a little upset is enough to crush me.

Today, we work on his words, but not out of need. We do it when we have time or he’s showing interest. I want him to learn how to do everything. Words. Songs. Fly a jet. You name it, I want my boy to find the ability. Just like his sister, I want his dreams to have no ceiling. Go as far as you can and achieve what you’re meant to.

Want and need are very different things. Back then, in October 2011, I needed it…or at least I thought I did.

Every day was another step down the ladder. As he grew and his skills didn’t emerge, it felt like I was failing him every step of the way. I have never beaten myself up the way I did when my son was little.

The feeling of helplessness crippled me. This boy was one of my favorite people in the world. This was surely my fault.

Truth? It’s no one’s “fault” because that would imply failure. It’s not failure that Lucas doesn’t speak. It’s who he is. It’s Lucas.

And that’s more than OK. That’s perfect. The way my son interacts with me and the world around him is exactly as he should. We make it work and I couldn’t imagine him any other way.

Might he still say his first words one day? Sure. Do I need him to? No. I never did.

All I ever needed was for him to be happy. If your child loves his life the way my son does, that’s a victory. He could say everything or nothing. None of it matters unless he’s smiling.

He is. I am too. I wish I could go back and tell that previous version of me this. I wish he could know that everything would be fine, even when it wasn’t.

You know what they say, “All you need is love.” Actually, you don’t even need to say it. You just need to feel it. Words are overrated.

My Essay in HuffPost: “I Don’t Want a Cure for My Son’s Autism”

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