Throughout my early life, I suffered in silence, and the depth didn't show until 1979 when I observed my son's heart-wrenching birth and watched helplessly as my bewildered wife endured excruciating pain. Later, I listened to a doctor label my son autistic. What the hell is autistic? Back then; I had never heard the phrase developmental, neural disorder. Not having any experience, I relied on the doctors' authority and professionalism. I depended on them for answers, and still, there was no meaningful support or information on which I could take advantage. I knew there was something divinely special and real about my son, and that kept me inspired and motivated; I would not accept that there was nothing I could do to help him. Also, the guesses and misinformation that I had to endure were unacceptable, yet I had to keep silent for fear of causing more issues for my speechless son. Looking back, I had no other choice. I had to walk a fine line. I was resigned to the fact that my son could easily be abused by the system. Not knowing what autism was made me feel helpless. That, coupled with no one to talk with, made it unbearable at times. My son's unconditional love and joy made me question any doubt I had. His unbelievable acceptance of love and our bond have made a powerful impact on my life. How could I leave him? How could I even think of leaving him and Martha, his mother, without support? What would happen to them if I died? Who would take care of them? I knew I had to stay-my son kept me alive! Still, I was tired of my life, tired of doing the same thing day in and day out. I felt done and ready to die. A roofer by trade, I'd frequently say to myself, So, what if I fall off the roof? Dig me a hole, and shove me in, and I'll be a happy camper. Many times, I wished I would fall. I was just a roofer. Would anyone even notice? How long would it be before someone would even notice? Many times, I wanted to be done with this life. All these thoughts and questions wandered in silence through my mind every day of the year, along with the anticipation of wrestling matches every evening with my son. I'd leave my home in Bakersfield at the crack of dawn, and in winter, it was still dark. I'd drive for a couple of hours to work on a roof all day in the hot sun-and sometimes, even in the snow-and then I'd drive back only to continue working at home, repairing the parts of the house that my son would've destroyed in fits of rage. Though my gut told me that it wasn't my fault, I still kept blaming myself and asking the same questions over and over: Why did this happen to my son? Why did this happen to us? What did I do wrong? What am I doing wrong? What is wrong with me for thinking all these thoughts about dying? One day, I finally heard a response! For the first time, I felt seen and heard. I met someone named Ann, who told me that I didn't do anything wrong and there was a gift in my son's situation. Before that time, I didn't know what I now know about this "gift." I felt I really didn't have a choice except to die, but Ann taught me instead to take a journey into my past, and I realized that the answers I was seeking were all within me. I discovered that emotions are our most direct link to our souls and to our abilities to feel and to know. Up until then, I hadn't realized that I had been a person who was numb, shut down, and unconscious. I had been sleepwalking throughout my life. For years, I did not allow myself to emote. Only recently I realized my emotions are real and must be expressed because they are the part of me that engages with what I really know-my intuition, what I am feeling and sensing. I realized that, when I suppress my emotions, I am not only denying my self-expression, but I am denying others permission to experience their feelings and be who they are. When I'm not transparent with others, I'm not only cheating myself; I am cheating others of the truth. And, a thought is not real until I react.