The following fundraising appeal was mailed in November of 2006 to the autism community. Autism Speaks thanks the Dunlap family for generously sharing their story in the hopes that it will move readers to help others.

Dear Friend,

We were first touched by Autism in 1998 when our son, Roger III, was diagnosed with “Pervasive Development Disorder Not Otherwise Specified”, an Autism-spectrum disorder. My wife and I were in our early twenties and had just begun to launch a life together. I was just beginning my career, and my wife was settling in as a young mother of two in our first family home. As all couples do, we talked and dreamed about our future together. We were working to build the life of our dreams and were very thankful for our most treasured blessings, two healthy, beautiful children. We were well on our way to the American Dream, 2 cars, 2-1/2 children and a mortgage.

Then, in 1998 when Roger III was almost 3 years old, we got the news. After 10-months of medical testing and evaluation we were told our son was afflicted with a disorder called autism.

For those that have been similarly touched, I do not have to explain the feelings that followed: puzzlement, heartache, and panic to name a few. As the months and years went by, we struggled for answers. What is Autism? Why did it happen to our son? How are we going to fix it?

During these times we also developed a vocabulary of terms and acronyms that rivaled that of a top secret intelligence project. Early Intervention, IDEA, Wrap Around, IEP, TSS, ABA, TEACCH, Treatment Plan and ESY soon became terms we would use and understand.

Our struggle for answers and services, however, seemed small when compared to the sizeable emotional battle that autism began to wage on our hearts. Coping emotionally with the circumstances that our son faced was most certainly our biggest struggle. We kept telling ourselves, “one day at a time”, but nothing took the fight out of us more than thinking about and being scared of the future. What will Roger III become? Would he ever tell us that he loved us? Would we ever be able to play catch with our son? Would he ever be cured? And, nothing was more frightening than thinking about what would happen to Roger III when we died.

Particularly for me, autism hit hard. Roger was my only son, and like all fathers, I had huge hopes and dreams for him. Some father's dream of watching their son hit a homerun in little league baseball or catching their first fish. When Roger III was 6 years old, I was still changing his diapers and was holding on to hope that he would someday be able to tie his shoes. Progress, no matter how small in some eyes, was huge to us.

At times, though, I was bitter because I really began to believe that autism had stolen my son. Autism turned my world inside out and rearranged the priorities in my life. But, what I found was that inside out really wasn't so bad after all. Roger III was my best friend and he taught me to see life in wonderful ways. Eventually he did play catch with me. He played soccer. We played basketball and loved swimming together. We went to the beach and played in the ocean. We ate out often. And, when he was able to, he told us that he loved us. We stayed up late. We hugged, kissed and played in the rain.

Despite all of that, a part of me still always hoped that Roger would someday be healed of this affliction. Every time I ever prayed, at church or over a meal, I prayed for the Lord to heal our son. On January 2, 2005, our personal battle with autism ended. Our beautiful son passed away unexpectedly at home in his sleep from a lung infection completely unrelated to his autism.

The night before, I washed his face, brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas, kissed him good night and tucked him to sleep. I gave him an extra pillow, and then he gave me this silly, mischievous sort of look. Little did I know that that would be the last time I would see him on this earth.

Fittingly, Roger's death is shrouded in as much mystery as his life. We don't know why Roger died. We may never know. It really was poetic in some respects, his mysterious death and the mysteries of autism. Days following Roger's death, we decided to donate his brain to the Autism Tissue Program. The program has a variety of active research projects that are funded by Autism Speaks and will, some day, unlock the mysteries of autism. It was a fitting way to honor his life. It was his Gift of Hope.

In 1999, we participated in the inaugural Walk F.A.R. for NAAR event which was held in Pittsburgh. We attended that event with several hundred other parents and caregivers and have participated in every walk since. In 2005, the coordinators of the event graciously dedicated the walk to the memory of our son.

Our involvement with Autism Speaks continues. We are resolved to continue our fundraising and other efforts until a cause and cure for autism is found. There are hundreds of thousands of people just like us: parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles who have all been similarly touched by autism. They, too, struggle mentally, physically, financially and emotionally every day. They continue to inspire with their energy and determination as they give financially to the fight to find a cause and a cure.

Now they desperately need your help. Your investment in Autism Speaks will help sustain the vitality of its research and help build brighter futures for the many children, adults and family members affected by autism.

There is a generation of children waiting for the keys that will unlock the mysteries of their condition. With your support, we can shed a bright light on the future of autism research.

Sincerely,

Roger and Heather Dunlap

P.S. Your generous contribution will bring Autism Speaks one step closer to finding a cure.

“Life is mostly froth and bubble. Two things stand in stone; Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in your own.” - Princess Diana, quoting Adam Lindsay Gordon

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