VT Works

Dear Dr. Sanet,

There are moments in every profession when we stop to reflect, not just on the work, but on the people who have shaped it. In the field of Developmental Optometry, your name stands tall among those few who have not only defined what we do, but who we strive to become.

You’ve long been a pillar of this profession. A visionary in every sense of the word. Your clinical brilliance, your ability to translate complex visual systems into simple, human-centered care, and your commitment to treating the whole person have reshaped the field in ways few can claim. You helped raise an entire generation of doctors and therapists, not just in skill, but in spirit.

But as I sit down to write this, I realize that the impact you’ve had goes far beyond professional achievement. It’s not just that you made us better at what we do. You made us better at life.

I often think back to our time working together in San Diego. In between patients, after long clinic days, or in those quiet, unguarded moments when the clinical faded into the personal, you always made space. Not just for problem-solving or case reviews, but for honesty, for reflection, for conversations about life, purpose, growth, and what it means to be a good human. I’ll never forget the day you told me to “suck less” when we were discussing my commitment to preparing for patients. It was a moment filled with equal parts challenge, wisdom, and tough love. Classic Bob.

Some of those moments came when I was struggling, not with a therapy procedure, but with the weight of life itself. And in those moments, you didn’t pull away. You leaned in. You offered wisdom, encouragement, and more often than not, a hug that carried more meaning than words ever could. You’ve reminded me, again and again, sometimes in spite of myself, that I mattered. That we all do.

Looking back, I’m overwhelmed by the sheer number of memories we’ve shared over the years. Little moments that became big ones: a joke shared, a story told, the feeling of being seen not just as a colleague, but as a human being. Every moment, and every memory, came wrapped in a lesson, not just about vision, but about living. Lessons about patience, compassion, humility, joy, and the kind of presence that changes people just by standing next to them.

That’s the legacy you’ve built, Bob. It’s not just a model of care, but a model of being.

You taught me that becoming a better vision therapist begins with becoming a better human being. That listening is just as therapeutic as doing. That it’s okay to not have all the answers as long as we stay present. That laughter and connection are not departures from the work; rather, they are the work. That the value of a practitioner is never measured in productivity, but in the care they give, the lives they touch, and the people they lift up.

You reminded all of us that our job is not to fix people, it’s to see them. To hold space for their growth, just as you have done for ours. In doing so, you gave us permission to believe we are enough. That our place in this world matters. That every person walking into our clinic, ourselves included, is worthy of dignity, compassion, and belonging.

So many of us walk through this field now holding your voice in our heads and your heart in our practice. We quote your stories. We share your metaphors. We carry forward the frameworks you built, but more importantly, we try to live by the example you set: to lead with empathy, to teach with humility, and to love people into their potential.

And just so you know, some of us are even still waiting for our own airplanes to land. You know the ones, those conversations and stories that took off during a moment of uncertainty, circled for a while, and return now with new meaning. You have taught us to wait for them with grace. Even those who never had the privilege of working beside you have been shaped by your legacy; often without even realizing it. Your presence is woven into the fabric of this profession in ways both subtle and profound.

There are no adequate words for that kind of gift, but I am here to try.

I need to say thank you, Bob. Yet, it feels almost impossible to capture what that thank you truly holds.

Thank you for your brilliance. Thank you for your time. Thank you for your humanity. Thank you for your heart. Thank you for sharing your gifts with us. Thank you for giving so many of us not just direction, but belief in ourselves, in our patients, and in the beauty of this work.

If this chapter of your journey is truly drawing to a close, please know this: your life may be ending, but your story is far from over. Your legacy lives on in our clinics, in our conversations, in the choices we make every day to serve with more heart, more presence, and more grace; all of it because of you. You have shaped not just a profession, but a generation. You are in our work, our words, our laughter, and our hugs. You always will be.

In so many ways, I am who I am today, as a vision therapist and as a person, because of you, Bob. Carrying your lessons forward is not just a tribute; it’s a badge of courage. An honor, to boot. One that reminds me, every day, to meet the world with the same compassion, wisdom, and heart that you so freely give. I know I’m not alone in that.

I love you, Bob.

With the deepest love, respect, gratitude, and a few tears,

Robert