Very few people in the world can say they escaped death. My Grandfather was one of them.
It’s a rare thing to be able to say, obviously so.
But what’s even more unusual is saying you escaped it 3 separate times.
When my grandfather Larry was very young, he got a Mastoid infection. It was so severe that they had to do extensive surgery. Afterwards he had to let fluids drip out of his ears — daily — for weeks on end. I remember him telling me how painful it was, he had no sense of balance and his head was pounding. He was only 9.
Larry survived, and he knew how lucky he was, because his doctor repeatedly reminded him that he should have died.
But he didn’t.
Fittingly, he went on to become a doctor, serve in the Navy, build a private practice, and a family. He went from being Larry to Dr. Wilson, to Lieutenant, and then to Dad.
Then he had his second encounter with death. He suffered a stroke at 59, which at the time was almost certainly a death sentence.
By extremely good fortune, one of my grandfather’s closest doctor friends was working on an experimental drug. It’s the one we now use today to treat strokes. The hospital staff was hesitant to administer it, but he insisted. That saved my grandfather’s life for the second time.
Death was 0/2.
This ushered in a new phase of his life; he retired and traveled the world with his wife and kids, and his kids went on to get married and have their own kids, and he became a Grandpa. That came with a whole slew of new memories and adventures (he likes to say I taught him what Mount Vesuvius was like, thanks to an explosive bowel movement situation when I was 1).
He had a grand time. The family thrived and carried the Wilson torch proudly.
Then there was Christmas Eve in 2019. He was walking up the stairs, lost his balance, and fell 6+ feet backwards. His head landed on the brick floor. My brother Hunter grabbed a towel and put pressure on the hole in his head to slow the bleeding while I called 9/11 to get the ambulance. As the paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher he joked that he always knew this was the only way he was ever going to leave his house. But it was a very serious night because he was on blood thinners and was likely going to develop a blood clot in his head.
Yet somehow, he didn’t. He was 90, and he beat death again. He refused to yield.
Last week, after 94 years of life, my grandfather passed away.
But I don’t think death really beat him. In my eyes it’s still 0/4. Because after all this time my grandfather got to experience 3 new eras of his life, each one suffused with magical stories, enduring memories, and ebullience.
Dr. Wilson did something even more rare than surviving three near death experiences: he lived three lifetimes.
He used his time.
Do it all
Familiar readers know I’m quite focused on this idea of using your time wisely. How do you get the most out of yourself — and life?
It’s a difficult challenge, rarely do we live life as vicariously as we want, or spend enough time with the people we love.
Over the past few days as I reflected on my grandfather’s life, I was struck by many things. More than I can adequately cover here.
One of the dominant thoughts was that he viewed life as an exciting adventure, and arrived at the finish line thoroughly worn out, in the best way possible. He was out of breath from a race he ran to its fullest.
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming 'Wow! What a Ride!'"
— Hunter S Thompson
There’s a quote from the show Billions that I love — one of the characters is asking Axe about two different obligations they have, and what they should do. Axe simply says: “You get one life, so do it all.”
That’s what living life like an adventure means to me. Figure out what things you want to experience in your limited time here, and eagerly go after them. People like to push back and say you need to be open to other opportunities. But in my eyes, you need to be already going somewhere for the detours, road bumps, and hidden trails to even appear. That’s when new things pop up on your radar.
In the case of my grandfather, his three lifetimes of adventure were filled with love, honor, sacrifice, devotion, selfishness, sweets, jubilance, hilarity, and respect. He loved sharing a good story, especially ones that focused on his time with close friends, family members, and patients. He always found ways to inject bouts of humor into them, too.
He’s one of the funniest people I’ve met, which is notable because he was someone who took life seriously. He visited every place my mother and aunt moved to, in order to make sure they were living in safe neighborhoods. Ever the Boy Scout, he found new ways to serve his community well after he shut down his practice. And he took his role of Monster Man very seriously, too.
His early battles with death taught him how short life can be, and as a result he lived his life vicariously, knowing some day he would leave this all behind.
Legacy
Moments like these really put everything into perspective. We often forget how little time we have, letting frivolities distract us from that.
I spend a lot of time with people that want to change the world. I love it. It’s what I’m here for. A day like today is a helpful reminder though that you don’t need to build a massive company to make a real difference in people’s lives.
I’m reminded of this quote from Hero on a Mission:
"You and I may or may not come from a powerful or positive legacy, but every single one of us gets to leave one."
— Donald Miller, Hero on a Mission
My grandfather didn’t really inherit much of a legacy from his parents, or at least that’s what it seemed. He definitely left one though, and quite a strong one at that.
A lot of people care about leaving a legacy. I don’t think I’ve seen a good definition for what that means though, so I thought I’d take a go at it:
A legacy is really about the people that remember you when you’re gone. It’s who they are, what they do, and how they do it.
By this measure my grandfather left a substantial legacy, emblematic of the American Dream. He built wealth for his family, gave them advantages he never had, and brightened our lives in a way that makes them feel less vibrant now that he’s gone.
As our family gathered together to celebrate his life, we recalled the other components of his spirit: his passion for service, gardening, storytelling, traveling, donuts, connecting people, and making them laugh.
Larry made sure that he left the Wilson name better off than he found it. He did that by taking action, working incredibly hard, and accepting the responsibilities he was entrusted with.
He encouraged us to take a similar path, and expected us to carry his mantle forward. These values are core to who he was, and one of his greatest successes is that he’s successfully passed them down through two generations.
He created that legacy he dreamed he would have.
No regrets, not even a letter
Part of growing up is losing people you love. In many ways this day was a long time coming, and I’ve been lucky to have plenty of time to prepare.
You don’t get to choose when you say goodbye to people you love. You don’t get to choose how they go. Usually you don’t even get to choose what the goodbye looks like.
It’s hard to not have regrets as a result. Sometimes we put off those conversations, or we simply don’t recognize life’s fragility until it’s too late. Even when you expect something you will still be impacted by it.
Again, it’s difficult to have no regrets. Though I’m pretty sure my grandfather didn’t have any.
To the chagrin of my teenage self, I have become a big fan of handwritten notes. I recently started taking photos of the ones I give to my loved ones and friends, and I recently revisited the one I gave him the last time I saw him in person.
I’m thankful I got to say everything I wanted to him before he passed away. I’m lucky that I had so much time with him, and I’m proud of him, too. My life arc is on a certain trajectory thanks in large part to his high standards for his grandkids. He wanted us to be great, and be happy while doing it.
And to live life without regret, not even a (handwritten) letter.
Goodbye
This is hard to write because there’s so much more I want to say.
Maybe the right place to end this piece is back at the beginning.
When my grandfather escaped death the first time, his doctor said “I’m not sure why you’re still alive, but God must have big plans for you.”
Years later, after my Grandfather became a doctor, he wrote a letter to the doctor that saved his life when he was 9. He told him he knew why God had saved him — it was so he could go on and save others too.
Thanks for everything, Grandpa. For all the love, stories, and lessons. As you used to remind people — you are and always will be Dr. Wilson.
That certainly is true.