I’m OK. I’m OK. Are You OK?

During the evening news on January 6, my son came into the kitchen and said, "I'm OK. I'm OK. Are you OK?"

He is 24. He has autism. He doesn't watch live TV. He's not on social media. He watches videos on YouTube. I don't know what pop-up he saw but he knew things were not OK. I had just turned on the news myself. I muted it. We did some soothing exercises. I was honest. “I am OK. But this is not OK. What's happening is not OK. What do you feel? Mad, sad, afraid?”

“Afraid. I'm OK. I'm OK. Are you OK?”

It's very rare for him to be in the kitchen when I'm cooking. He's sensitive to smell. It's more rare for him to ask about me.

Both actions were disruptive to me. It meant he was past his threshold. It put me past my threshold. A 24-year-old with an IQ under 75 knew it's not OK. Knew he needed to soothe himself with positive words. Knew he needed to check on the people he loves.

I'm OK. I'm undone by the hope in him and the grief in me. But I am OK.

I'm OK. I'm OK. Are you OK?