There are many rights of passage as a parent. Holding your baby for the first time, seeing your baby’s first toothless open mouth smile, and watching your baby take her first steps. But nothing can compare to the first time you hear the four most beautiful words come out of your child’s mouth: “I love you, Mommy!” Somehow those four words validate every sleepless night, every dirty diaper changed, every missed social event, and every pound of baby weight that tightly grips your thighs, no matter how you try to lose it.

I don’t remember when my oldest, Andrew, said those meaningful four words to me. I would assume he said them when he was between two and three years old. When he did, I took it for granted. It is not that I didn’t enjoy it; I just never thought about it much because it happened without any effort on my part. It was an expectation that comes from the natural progression in a child’s life.

Autism moms don’t talk about this because the very mention of it brings too much pain to bear. All those years of waiting to be validated for physical and mental strain and emotional trauma that consumes the life of a mom with a child with autism. She could be given the Mother-of-the-Year Award and be praised by hundreds, but it doesn’t matter. The only person she wants to acknowledge her love is her own child. She wants to know for sure that her child really does love her.

When Lizzie was about two or three years old, she would walk aimlessly around the house, wave her fingers in front of her face and say something that sounded like, “Diddle, diddle. Diddle, diddle,” over and over all day long.

Every night when I tucked Lizzie in, I would sing to her “I Will” by the Beatles. I did not realize it at the time, but these words so perfectly described the longing in my heart to find my little girl that was present in body, but absent of emotional connection. I would sing:

Who knows how long I've loved you
You know I love you still
Will I wait a lonely lifetime
If you want me to, I will.

And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
For the things you do endear you to me
Oh, you know, I will
I will.

Then I would kiss her forehead and just as I started to close the door, I would say, “I love you, Lizzie.” Pause. Silence.

Some nights it would really depress me that she didn’t respond. I would shove the feelings down, and try to not let my thoughts wander down that dangerous road. Other times, I would just go on with my evening because I had come to expect the silence from that dark room.

For some autism moms, it takes years and years of intervention and for others, they will never know the thrill of their child’s voice saying, “I love you.” Those moms will find other ways to know they are loved back. Maybe in a hug, a glance or the way he jumps up and down or runs with open arms when he sees her, but a part of her will always long to hear it.

As for Lizzie, one night when she was five-years old, as I was tucking her in, I sang our song as I always did. I kissed her forehead and just as I was about close the door, I heard a little voice from deep in that dark room quietly say, “Love eew.”

So, when you kiss your babies goodnight tonight, relish the sound of their voices saying that they love you back. And say a prayer for all the moms that may never know this simple pleasure.

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Julie Hornok has been married to her wonderful husband, Greg, for 14 years and is the mother of three children, Andrew, Lizzie and Noah. Lizzie was diagnosed with moderate autism at 2 years old and now, at age 9, is mainstreamed in school and enthusiastically enjoys relationships with friends and family. Julie feels blessed that her daughter has come so far and enjoys spending her free time helping moms with a new autism diagnosis and sharing the small bits of wisdom she has learned along the way. Julie also loves to give back to the community by putting together special needs events. Feel free to see Lizzie’s progress on video on her blog www.lizziehornok.blogspot.com.