I have been away from this for awhile but for a good reason.  I have put all my time into alternative treatment options for Harrison.  I have searched the entire Kingdon of Google for the options I do have, and I am taking him to a Defeat Autism Now! doctor.  It's a 4 1/2 hour drive to the best one for my son, but it will be well worth the drive.  I want to know every possible test and every possible treatment they may use.  I obtained a complete copy of his medical file to send to this DAN! doctor, and after reading it, I began to have an overriding sense of guilt.  It was about the time after he got his MMR vaccination that he started to regress.  During the same time period, Harrison was hospitalized for four days with pneumonia, and I think that may have had something to do with it.  I felt the guilt because it was me that held him down when they gave him these vaccinations.  It was me that held him down while they shot these toxins into his little body with im screaming and crying the entire time.  I feel guilty; I feel responsible; I feel horrible about it all, but now, I am starting to do something about it.  I owe it to him, but I'm not doing it out of a sense of guilt or duty (as a parent).  I'm doing it out of a sense of compassion and love of him as my son.We have already started to transition him to a GFCF diet, which is going well so far.  He actually calls the rice milk "yummy milk" and now prefers it over cow's milk.  I'm discovering a hidden talent within myself: baking.  I've been trying various GFCF recipes, and most have gone well.  And for the ones that haven't, well, the dog likes it because he is the recipient of my baking mishaps!!! Just two days ago, Harrison went milk-free, and next week, he will be casein-free.  After that will be the transition to gluten-free.  I did question myself on whether or not it would work or be worth it.  It is going to be much more time and money involved, but hey, how else am I going to spend my money anyway?  I have always believed that a parent's job is to give their children a better life than they had, which is what I'm doing, but it was something Harrison did that "sealed the deal" for my decision.  When prompted, Harrison has been saying, "I love you," but I wondered if he actually knew what it meant.  Yesterday, he looked at me, put his little arms around my neck, hugged me, and said, "I love you."  And just this morning, my wife told me that when she and Harrison were having breakfast, he looked at her and said, "Daddy gone?"  He has done other things since he's been milk-free and partially gluten-free, which helps solidify my decision and makes me want to do the diet even more.  I know this transition will be hard; it will be stressful cutting all the right stuff out of his diet, but if I ever need any motivation to keep going, I will look back to this moment, and that will be all the motivation I will need.  He's all the motivation I'll need to do what it takes to do the right thing for him.  It was if he was telling me, in his own way, that I am making the right decision.Another thing happened that actually frustrated me.  I saw a mother with her child at a local grocery store.  I was at the health food section looking at all the GFCF options they had when I heard the ruckus.  This child was just jabbering on like many other toddlers do.  The mother looked down at her child and said (loudly), "Can't you ever just shut up for a few minutes!?"  I was stunned.  I wish I had that problem.  I wish Harrison would talk more than he does.  I would cherish every word that comes from his mouth.  I would hang on every word eagerly waiting for the next word.  I really don't think this woman realizes what it would be like if her child didn't talk much or didn't express emotions or didn't show things that excited her.  Sometimes, I think just the opposite of what this woman said.  When Harrison is having one of his days where his autism is more apparent, I sit there begging for just one word, maybe a few.  I just want to hear his voice; I just want him to be able to express himself.  I want him to tell me what he's thinking; I just want him to talk.  And when he does talk, if only for a few moments, it makes me appreciate all I have in him.  It makes me appreciate that he did say something (my favorite is when he says, "I love you").  I've waited about three years to hear him put words together, and I feel fortunate because I know people have waited longer; people have never heard a single word from their child, and my heart goes out to them.  To them, my advice would be to be patient, your day will come.  And when it does, I doubt you'll ever tell your children to "shut up for just a few minutes".