VT Works

The first time I met Dr. Bob Sanet (circa 2000), it never occurred to my boyishly awestruck mind that one day I may find myself sitting in his living room, discussing pride and gratitude, discussing the contentment he felt with his accomplishments, discussing the power of choosing the positive, and discussing the rapidly approaching end of his life. 

And yet, there I was.

I will openly admit to being just as awestruck, just as amazed, just as aware of the love and wisdom emanating from the man; yet all the while, being enveloped in the full recognition of the circumstances and impending outcome. Bob’s time is short, and barring some medical miracle, there is nothing left to do but enjoy that which remains.

The flight from my home in San Francisco to San Diego is barely an hour in duration; just long enough to inhale enough HEPA filtered air to cause concern. The first time I ever flew into San Diego was the weekend I was introduced to Bob Sanet. The irony is not lost on me that one of the last remaining reasons I have to travel to this southern corner of the country is to visit him, now in his waning days.

The memories between that first weekend and this visit span years of mentorship, lessons, conferences, impromptu conversations, and moments of unfiltered laughter. Bob has never been just a giant in our profession; he has been a lighthouse for so many of us trying to find our way through a fog of uncertainty. And now, as I sit across from him in his living room, I realize this may be a moment when the lighthouse light begins to fade; and yet here I am, still valuing and trusting the beacon to guide me forward. His light shines not with regret or sorrow, but with dignity, with grace, with a sense of having guided countless ships safely to shore. He is grateful for what remains, honest about what lies ahead, and at peace with the life he has lived.

I think about the doctors and vision therapists who learned from him, the colleagues who leaned on him, the patients whose lives were changed because of how much he cared. I think about how lucky I am to have known him; not as a name in a program or a quote in a lecture, but as a man who laughed easily, taught generously, and lived fully. What I thought would be a visit to comfort Bob became, unsurprisingly, a valuable learning opportunity; as he effortlessly was weaving lessons on life, love, and wisdom for overcoming obstacles into our conversations.

The importance of this visit has weighed heavily on my heart these last few weeks. There was not an option to put it off, to say “next month” or “next year.” This was it. The conversations, the hugs, the look across the living room that held so many of his stories. It carried a weight I couldn’t ignore. Not because it was the last time we would speak, but because we can silently feel the last time approaching. It was the kind of visit where you feel time pressing in, reminding you that these moments are numbered. Every word seemed to matter more. Every shared memory felt sharper. There was a quiet urgency to soak it in, to listen a little longer, to carry his wisdom with me for the days when he wouldn’t be there to give it.

When it was time to head home, and I walked out his front door into the bright San Diego sun, I knew I was carrying pieces of Bob forward; into my work, into my life, into the lives of those who will never meet him but will feel his impact all the same.

Because that’s what the best teachers leave behind; not just lessons, but parts of themselves that keep teaching long after they’re gone. Bob Sanet will always be one of those people for me. One whose lesson-filled voice will echo in my choices, my conversations with patients, the way I carry myself in this profession, and the way I move forward in life.

“Just choose happiness”, Bob implores. It’s a message for the good times and the bad, a message that I wish I could hear him say over and over for the rest of my life. Instead his voice and passion are in my head and heart. An honest man, a loving soul, an undeniable force of nature.

For as long as I’ve known him, Bob Sanet has changed the conversation. Although the setting this time was in his living room, this past weekend was as much about my visiting Bob as it was Bob visiting with me. My thoughts. My heart. My successes. My struggles. He wanted to hear all of it.

That is the quintessential Bob. If you turn to him with an open heart, he’s instantly there with you, listening with intention, absolutely 100%. Cancer can kiss his ass in that moment; he has far more important things to talk about. First and foremost, helping his fellow human being.

Having lost my father to cancer just last year, visiting Bob as he approaches the sunset of his life was not an easy thing to do, but there was certainly strength to be found in the conversations we had and in the understanding he is at peace. Personally, I find strength in the knowledge that no matter what happens next, the world will forever be better because Bob Sanet was a part of it.

Calling him my friend will always be the cherry on top.