IKEA can be a sensory overload for kids like my son, Liam—sometimes it’s just too much, but other times it hits the right note.
Dear IKEA Jake,
I regret not getting your last name; our encounter was a whirlwind, and there was no time for formalities. But I need you to know how thankful I am for your help last Sunday at the Brooklyn IKEA.
You witnessed the initial panic. I was in the self-service area, grabbing a cart, when I momentarily let go of Liam’s hand. In an instant, he darted away! I abandoned the cart and took off after him. You called out, “Is that your son?” and without thinking, I yelled “Yes!” as I continued my frantic chase. My focus was solely on Liam, hoping to catch up before he wandered too far.
Through the aisles of plants, housewares, and lighting, I could still see him, but then he vanished. His small stature and quick movements allowed him to weave through the crowd of shoppers with ease. Little did I know, you had also started pursuing him, taking a different route in hopes of intercepting him. Smart thinking, Jake.
I sprinted through the lower level, scanning every corner for him. Just then, I recalled how much he loves the french fries at the café. I raced up the stairs only to find my hunch was wrong. I remembered his fascination with a specific bedroom display, so I began to circle the second floor, desperately looking for it.
As I navigated through the maze of shoppers and Scandinavian decor, I felt like a rat trapped in a labyrinth. I tried to maneuver quickly but ended up bumping into at least two unsuspecting customers and a Ypperlig floor lamp (thankfully, it didn’t topple over).
After what felt like an eternity of ten agonizing minutes, I finally reached that beloved bedroom setup. But once again, no Liam.
Panic set in. You see, Liam is on the autism spectrum. He can speak, but his ability to communicate effectively is limited, especially with unfamiliar people. When frightened, he experiences anxiety-driven meltdowns that make it nearly impossible for him to engage. The thought of him running outside into the icy parking lot, lost and confused, sent waves of dread through me.
Just as I was about to call for assistance, a miraculous announcement crackled over the PA system: “Michael, please come to the rug department.” My heart leaped!
However, I quickly realized the challenge of getting there. The store map was a puzzle that my overwhelmed mind couldn’t decipher. I could only imagine Liam in distress, perhaps coughing or worse. So, I channeled my high school football skills and dashed towards the rug section.
Through the glassware, lamps, and kitchenware, I finally spotted the sign for RUGS! And there he was—Liam, happily lying atop a stack of rugs, rolling around with glee. And beside him, of course, was you, Jake. I recognized you instantly—the one who had seen me chasing after my son. I rushed to check on Liam, who was perfectly fine after what felt like an eternity apart. It was I who was a wreck, drenched in sweat and panting from the adrenaline.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I’m so grateful!” I exclaimed. “I had no idea you were also looking for him!”
“No problem! I’m just glad it all worked out,” was your cheerful response. “He’s a charming little guy. It took a bit for him to tell me your name so we could announce it.”
I started to explain, “He’s autistic…” but you nodded, understanding. “I could tell you needed help when I saw him run off. I just wanted to make sure he was safe.”
“Me too. You have no idea,” I replied, filled with relief.
Or maybe you do. You might be aware of the alarming statistics regarding autistic children going missing each year, with nearly half eloping before turning 17—a term that carries with it dire implications. Your instinct to act was extraordinary. You recognized that there was more to the situation than met the eye, while most others might have simply overlooked it.
So, thank you once again, IKEA Jake. I didn’t catch your last name, and I should have, as I penned a letter to IKEA corporate detailing that day’s events and emphasizing your compassion.
If our paths cross again, I’d love to treat you to a plate of Swedish meatballs at the café. Liam will definitely want the fries!