I Wasn’t Aware of It
Have you seen Michael’s final episode of The Office?
Everyone’s planned a specific send-off party for his final day, but he realizes that the goodbyes will be too hard for him, and he quietly leaves one day early with only Jim realizing what’s really going on.
At the end of the workday, he gathers his things and heads to the office door, turning around one last time to take in his co-workers and friends.
Stanley is on a call with a client. Phyllis is typing on the computer. Creed raises up a coffee cup and says “see you tomorrow, boss!”
For such a significant moment, it’s very much business as usual in Scranton— simply because no one realizes the depth of what’s happening in their midst.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this scene lately. At Magic Kingdom, we learned the shocking news that one of our best Cast Members— a man who consistently shared love and kindness with all— had passed away of cancer.
I had anticipated his travel plans since the beginning of the year: in August, he would be leaving Disney and returning to his home country of Peru. Almost every week, I reminded myself that the month was slowly approaching, and I needed to make sure I said my final goodbye before his departure.
Yet that day never came. The terminal cancer diagnosis was a surprise to him in April, yet for a time he kept showing up to work— with that same smile and joy radiating from himself to others. He kept the news of his diagnosis to himself, likely not wanting to worry or sadden anyone.
When I heard about his death, I was shocked. I had seen him looking healthy at work just weeks before.
I found out that thankfully he was able to fly to Peru to spend his final days with family…. Which then brought that image of The Office to my mind.
If he was able to get the flight, then of course he was preparing to leave. And when he prepared to leave… he knew he wasn’t returning.
At some point, there had to be a final shift where he knew this is it— I’m getting on that flight and I’m not going to be coming back.
Yet, in our ignorance of the situation, we continued working and going about our normal tasks— someone popped another batch of popcorn as he left, because we knew we’d see him tomorrow.
There’s always tomorrow.
Except, sometimes, there isn’t.
One thing that speaks the deepest to me in the midst of this grief is the absolute deep, meaningful, moving, spiritual reality that was occurring in that moment without any of the rest of us knowing it.
There’s this story in the Jewish Torah where a man named Jacob wakes up one morning and realizes that something had happened while he slept that had nothing to do with a normal night’s rest. He looks around and says: “surely God was in this place, and I wasn’t aware of it.”
How often are these moments surrounding us in seemingly ordinary spaces and places? And how often are we just going through the motions of yet another basic day, unaware?
At Magic Kingdom, with roughly 50,000 guests stepping through the gates each day, the odds are pretty good that everyday is anything but basic; that there’s something meaningful happening around us every day right in the middle of what may be mundane. They’re here to celebrate, to grieve, and to— in some cases— exist.
A family celebrates a first pregnancy after years of failed attempts.
A child is adopted into a new family, leaving the foster care system.
And then there’s those who come here one last time with their aging Dad, knowing it’s his last trip.
There’s the family of three who are taking their daughter on one last family vacation before they announce the divorce.
For some, the deep moment is just looking around and knowing… nothing will ever be the same after this day. In that situation, it’s time to simply exist and breathe in the moment.
And in that knowledge, preparing for a 10 hour shift in Fantasyland, I take a deep breath. I consider the legacy of my friend from Peru, and I hope to exude his joy in my long day.
And then I head into this moment— one situated between the mundane and the spiritual— with eyes wide open.