Out Loud Thoughts

My last Christmas present from Eric was this D23 trip to Disneyland. And now, as the trip comes to an end, I find myself trying to understand what it means to experience something I have always loved in a reality I never wanted.

I have been a Disney fan for a long time. Disneyland was the first Disney park I experienced, when I was in college and serving as a national officer for Future Business Leaders of America. I remember being captivated by the experience. Not just the attractions or the characters, but the way everything worked together. The attention to detail. The storytelling. The feeling that there was magic around every corner. 

That is still what I love about Disney.

This trip was bittersweet from the beginning. I came knowing I would miss Eric. I came knowing there would be moments when I would wish he were standing beside me, seeing what I was seeing, laughing about something ridiculous, or simply sharing the experience.

And I did miss him. I was sad.

But something unexpected happened, too.

For the first time in many months, I slept soundly through the night. Every night. After months of worry, caregiving, sleeplessness, and then grief, simply closing my eyes and waking up rested felt like its own kind of magic.

The first difficult moment came at check-in. The reservation included Eric’s name, and the cast member helping me asked whether we were celebrating anything special.

That question hit me harder than I expected.

I choked out an explanation, trying to find the words. And then, almost magically, another cast member appeared beside me with tissues and asked if she could give me a hug.

She told me she had lost her husband two years earlier. Takes one to know one.

Over the next four nights, there were surprises that I will never forget.

A room was found so I could check in early and immediately settle in. A Grand Californian Loungefly bag, ornaments, and an inspiring note about starting on a new adventure were sent to my room. On the first night, turndown service left a vial of wonderful lavender balm, followed by new relaxation themed treats each evening.

On Saturday, I received a mysterious message inviting me to the Napa Rose restaurant.

The surprise was a seat at the Chef’s Table, complete with an extraordinary meal and wine pairings. The head chef presented me with a beautiful note and chocolates.

As if all this were not enough, the spa team delivered a special Grand Californian throw blanket and eye mask, along with another incredibly moving card.

The gifts were unexpected, touching, and I am deeply grateful for every one of them. I was truly spoiled.  

But that wasn’t the magic. The magic was in those heartwarming notes, the people who wrote them, and all of the hugs and encouragement they shared.

Somehow, these cast members – people who began as strangers – became friends. Grief is part of life. They saw that I was hurting. They understood that this trip was both a gift from Eric and a reminder that he was no longer here to share it with me. And from the very beginning, they made a point of showing me care.

I arrived expecting to miss Eric and feel sad.

And I did.

But I also found something I didn’t know I needed.

I found kindness in unexpected places. I found people willing to sit with sadness instead of trying to fix it. I found hugs, tissues, handwritten notes, thoughtful surprises, and people who seemed determined to make sure I knew that someone cared.

I came to Disneyland alone.

But I wasn’t alone.

Maybe that is part of adjusting to this new reality. Learning that loving Eric and grieving him will always be part of my story, but perhaps they don’t have to be the only things in it. Learning that I can still experience joy without feeling as though I am leaving him behind. Learning that new memories can exist alongside the old ones.

This trip was my last Christmas present from Eric.

And somehow, it became something more than I expected.

It became a reminder that even when life changes in ways we would never have chosen, there can still be magic around the corner.