Dear Jamie,
I hope my lack of your last name doesn’t diminish the gratitude I feel for your kindness last Sunday at the Brooklyn IKEA. The circumstances under which we met didn’t lend themselves to a formal introduction, but I want you to know how much your assistance meant to me and my family.
You were there at the start of my frantic search, witnessing the moment I momentarily released my son’s hand in the self-service area. In an instant, he darted away, and I abandoned my cart to chase after him. You noticed my distress and asked, “Is that your son?” I automatically replied, “Yes,” and continued my pursuit, focused solely on keeping my eyes on Colin as he zipped through the crowded aisles.
Even as he gained distance, I could still spot him among the plants and housewares. But just like that, he vanished, his small stature allowing him to weave skillfully through the throngs of shoppers.
What I didn’t realize was that you had taken off after him, too. You presumed I might need assistance if I couldn’t catch up. Smart thinking, Jamie.
As I dashed through the store, scanning for Colin, I thought of the IKEA café and its tempting french fries, hoping he might be drawn there. No luck. Then I remembered he often gravitated toward a particular bedroom display, so I began circling the second floor in search.
Navigating the store felt like being in a maze filled with furniture and shoppers, and I bumped into a few unsuspecting customers along the way. After what felt like an eternity of ten minutes, I finally reached his favorite display, but he was nowhere to be found.
Panic began to set in. Colin is autistic, and while he can communicate, he struggles to convey his needs, especially in unfamiliar situations. He can easily become overwhelmed and anxious, and I feared he might run outside into the icy parking lot in a state of confusion.
Just as I was about to call for help, a voice echoed over the PA system: “Michael Harris, please come to the rug department.” Relief washed over me; I ran towards the nearest directory to find my way to Rugs, my mind racing with worry.
Navigating through the aisles, I hurried past glassware and kitchenware until I finally spotted the rugs. And there, amidst a pile of them, was Colin—smiling and rolling around, clearly enjoying his sensory experience. And there you were, Jamie, the friendly face I recognized from earlier.
“Thank you so much!” I exclaimed, winded and relieved. “I had no idea you were looking for him, too!”
“I’m just glad I could help,” you replied with a smile. “He’s a fun kid, but it took a bit to get him to share your name for the page.”
I felt compelled to explain further, “He’s autistic…” but you nodded as if you understood. “I could tell you needed help when I saw him take off,” you said, and I felt an immense wave of gratitude.
Your quick thinking and willingness to assist made a potentially frightening situation much more manageable. Many people might not have noticed or reacted, but you did, and for that, I am deeply appreciative.
If we cross paths again, I’d love to treat you to some Swedish meatballs at the IKEA café—Colin will happily have the fries.
Thank you again, Jamie. I’ve written to corporate to share my experience and to recommend you for your compassion.
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