When our son was diagnosed with Autism, a lot of people told us not be sad. Just celebrate his uniqueness. Just trust God. Special people get special kids.

Even with these motivational statements, I still felt sad and felt guilty for feeling sad.

While I do celebrate his uniqueness, I've had to grieve the death of some dreams and expectations. He is 4 years old and still doesn't call me dad, play catch or do many of the things I've waited my whole life for.

For all the people with Autism in their lives who felt like their emotions, thoughts and feelings aren't valid, this song is a lament for you. A lot of people have helped me on my journey, so I want to pass on some of what I’ve learned.

What I wish I would have known right away:

When you suspect something is off, get an official diagnosis right away
Start the process of getting into therapy right away (it’s overcrowded and slow)
Health Insurance covers therapy (don’t let them tell you otherwise)
2 Hours or less of therapy/week did not feel like enough
People will judge you for wanting a cure and people will judge you for not wanting a cure
There is a whole world of “Bio-Medical” healing with diets, supplements, and protocols
If you go down the Bio-Medical path, find a Naturopathic doctor to help you
Many kids with Autism have Lyme Disease (my son does)
Get tests for genetics, blood, gut biome, and heavy metals—it illuminates a lot of the underlying issues.
Here are some of the things that have helped our family—GFCF Diet, REID Diet, Nemechek Protocol, Enzyme Protocols, Anti-viral protocols, Detox Protocols, Anti-Fungal Protocols, and more.
I’ve joined many Autism parent facebook groups and, while there’s a lot of bad advice, there’s often gold and it’s been a huge lifeline
When it came to getting my child help, my wife and I learned that “the squeaky wheel gets the grease.” As our son’s number 1 advocate, that means we were really aggressive with phone calls, consistency and doing everything possible for our son to get what he needed. We didn’t take no for an answer—even when that made us really annoying.

If you want specifics on what we’ve done, please fill out the form

Here’s something I posted on Facebook 6 months after receiving my son’s diagnosis:

“I feel like I’ve had two sons.

Until the age of two, Obi hit all of his milestones—crawling, walking and speaking over 40 words. He performed actions for songs and posed for pictures. He imitated our actions and smiled when seeing me. I haven’t seen my son act like this for over a year.

At age two, he stopped making eye contact, stopped engaging with humans, and stopped speaking all but one word. His tantrums started lasting hours instead of minutes and he no longer played catch. Obi is now 3 and has never called Amreitha or me “mom and dad.”

Thinking he’s stubborn or a late bloomer like his father, we brought him to a speech therapy center. After a team observed him for a couple of hours, they told us he needed to be evaluated for ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder).

Amreitha and I never considered this possibility. Totally blindsided, I asked the therapists to repeat those words again. They did and our family entered a season of despair. Suddenly, like Obi, I lost my speaking ability.

I made a running list of all the dreams starting to die: potty training, Obi making friends, college, getting married, making me a grandpa, inheriting the family business, and living on his own.

After fighting for months and spending lots of money to get him officially evaluated, Obi received a diagnosis from two different doctors—regressive Autism.

1 in 37 boys are diagnosed with Autism.

Therapists told us there’s no hope for recovery and we shouldn’t grieve the loss of our son’s old personality. Rather, we should celebrate that he’s differently brained. We were told that Autism only moves in one direction—regression.

However, I do grieve. Facing this is the most painful challenge I’ve ever encountered. Tears, desperation, anger, and confusion have surrounded us. For months, I felt like I could pray for anything but my son.

Watching neurotypical children give up on playing with my unresponsive son is a pain I never saw coming. I never thought I’d be a father to a child with special needs.

Autism comes from the Greek word “autos” which indicates removal from social interaction. It means Obi is alone.

I try to so hard to enter his world. I pray everyday he’s not alone. Without hesitation, I’d take any disorder from my son and enter his world.

In the midst of this darkness, God spoke to my pregnant wife, “I am healing your son.” Even against those who tell me this Autism only regresses, I cling to these words. I am unwilling to give up on hope. We are fighting for our son. In the last 6 months, we’ve read dozens of books, changed Obi’s diet and enrolled him in 6 therapy sessions a week.

In the first month, eye contact came back. In the second month, he started repeating words again. In the third month, he began pointing for the first time. In the fourth month, he started asking me to read books with him for the first time. In the fifth month, he started potty training. Last Tuesday, he peed in the toilet 11 times without one accident. We are progressing.

I’m okay with adjusting my dreams, and I don’t know what will happen in the future, but I will not give up on hope—while celebrating what makes Obi special and different.

God did not give Obi a disorder, but I believe God will use this for good. God will not leave Obi alone. Autism does not define Obi—God does.

I’m sharing this so you will join us in prayer, support, and this overcoming story. We can’t do this alone. Thank you to all who have gotten us this far.

All in all, as for me and my house, we will praise Jesus. We won’t just glorify God at the beginning or the end, but right here in the middle of the storm..”

It’s been over a year since I wrote these words, and it’s still just as hard.

If you’re going through something similar, you’re not alone.

Much Love,

Pradeepan Jeeva

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