A year ago I heard the second most frightening words ever spoken to me in 39 years of my life. "You have cancer," the doctor told me somberly. "It's serious."
You may wonder what that has to do with World Autism Awareness Day. Which brings me to the scariest words I have ever heard. It was eight years ago, when I brought my beautiful baby girl to a neurologist to figure out why she had no speech and was unresponsive to her name. "Your daughter has autism," he told me.

Alina and me at Autism JAM 2008.
Many of you reading this know the shock, fear and pain that follow this diagnosis. No one hands you an instruction booklet, and there is no cure.
For me there has been chemotherapy radiation therapy, and surgery. For me there are clinical trial dugs and hormone therapies, and medicines to manage side effects. Even with an advanced cancer, for me there is research, and there is hope.
My daughter's autism will never go away. For her there has been and will be nothing but work. Work every day with therapists and teachers, work to learn step by step, little by little, how to function in this world. To learn how to communicate. To learn how to connect.
The thing that scares me most is that I won't be here to care for her. On more than one occasion I have heard parents of autistic children say, "I can never die." No one can ever care for her like I do.
Here is the good news: we have come so far in the past several years with helping children like mine using behavior therapies, occupational therapy, speech therapy, and even medications. But we have so far to go. World Autism Awareness day is about giving these remarkable children the attention they deserve, and treating them with respect and tolerance.
With 1 in 150 people in the country now affected by autism, we have no choice but to focus on helping them reach their full potential. When you contribute to autism research, you help ensure that these children have a fighting chance at happy and productive lives.
And maybe someday, with your help, no parent has to hear those terrifying words, “Your child has autism," ever again.
Jennie,
this was profound....
Wow... this blog made me instantly decide I will run my very first 5K this August for JAM. My 5-year-old daughter is autistic and Jennie reminds me that every challenge, no matter how great, is matched and exceeded by other families out there in the great wide world. We are certainly not alone.
Jennie, I hope you're doing well and finding many reasons to smile today. I have, thanks to you.