April Winchell

Jacob is 12 years old and he’s dying.

Jacob is a big fan of the Disney show “Recess”, on which I play the crotchety Miss Finster. Jacob’s family had contacted the Stalight Foundation, because his wish was to meet the whole cast. Disney had arranged a party for him at the studio, and they invited me to come.

His party was yesterday afternoon. I walked into the studio and everyone was already there. It took me a few minutes to find him, because he was sitting in a wheelchair and there were so many people in the room. He was just a pale little boy, his hair nearly all gone from chemo that wasn’t helping. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was enormously saddened.

The entire cast was there, which made me very proud. These are all working actors who could have been excused for not making it to this party. But no one missed it.

We wheeled Jacob into the recording booth, where the cast recreated a scene from Recess with Jacob playing one of the incidental characters. Then we had pizza, and watched a tape Jacob had brought from home.

It was made by the cast of a medieval show Jacob had enjoyed during a family trip to Pennsylvania. They all faced the camera in costume, speaking to him as their characters, promising to send magic buttons and fairy wings. He smiled as he watched it, but I thought I could see a sadness in the actor’s faces; a cloud behind their cheerful delivery and messages of hope.

A few hours passed, and Jacob started to get sick. He couldn’t have any cake because his stomach hurt. He sat in his wheelchair with his head in his small white hands, happy to have had this dream come true, and angry that he was so unwell that he would soon have to end it.

His parents put him in the van, loading up the seat beside him with autographed posters, T-shirts, toys and other memorabilia from the series and the movie. He also got an edited tape of the scene we recorded together.

He waved to us as his parents said their goodbyes. His mother smiled broadly and hugged me, but she didn’t let go right away, and I thought perhaps she was trying to hold onto something bigger than me; a purely happy afternoon, a fleeting sensation of normalcy. Then they all drove away to take him home to die.

I often feel I do such pointless work, and I can’t imagine that my voices and my contributions are of much importance to anyone. So this was a gift today. I helped to add value to someone’s life, and I know he will carry that with him for the rest of his days. And I will carry that with me for the rest of mine.