I’d never had to rely on others like this. It was a tough pill to swallow. When it came to my family—or just about anything else—I considered it a sign of weakness to depend on someone else. It meant I wasn’t doing my job as a husband and father.
At least, that was how I used to think. If I’d learned anything from the grizzly attack, however, it was that I didn’t always have to prove myself or take on every challenge alone. As strange and uncomfortable as it felt, it was actually okay to ask for help. When I thought more about it, I realized that Rhea had her hands full serving as my caretaker while also being mom for the kids. Not only that, but since she was mostly housebound because of my injuries, she was missing out on her usual social interaction. She needed people to talk to. I decided the meal plan wasn’t such a bad idea.
I must have needed more practice with that lesson, because it kept coming back. The news media had camped out in front of our house the day after the grizzly attack. Rhea had already dodged them for a few hours that day and asked Ben to sneak in and out through the alley behind our house until she figured out what to tell them. Starting about ten on my first morning at home and continuing for the rest of the day, our phones rang nonstop. Good Morning America, National Public Radio, the British newspaper the Guardian, and just about every local and regional news outlet wanted to interview me. I was suddenly a reluctant celebrity.
Rhea knew I was overwhelmed physically and emotionally, and that I wasn’t in a good state to handle the media. She asked if I could get someone to help us map out a strategy for who to give interviews to and what to say. Of course it bothered me that she had to deal with pressure from TV and print reporters, especially since I was the cause of it. And I realized I was far from at my best. Yet I hesitated to ask for assistance. The instinct to take care of everything on my own was strong.
Once again, however, I acknowledged that this was a situation where I didn’t need to prove myself to anyone. Plus, I knew just who to call. Bryan was a good friend, paramedic, and firefighter who’d had training on how to address the media at the scene of an emergency. He coordinated my interviews, prepared me ahead of time, and did a fantastic job of managing the situation. Initially, I also asked Bryan to change my bandages, which he gladly did.
I was thankful for Bryan’s presence, but this new approach to life was going to take some getting used to.
Then there was my would-be nurse, my daughter. I had a wound kit that included a thin bamboo swab with cotton on the end. The doctor’s orders were to force that swab into the holes in my arms and leg, clean and irrigate the area, and then pack it with gauze—twice or three times a day. No question, it was gross. But when Ciara saw me working on it, she came over and said, “Dad, can I help you with that?”
My first thought had always been to protect my family’s eyes and hearts from anything uncomfortable or painful. I did not want my daughter looking at my wounds. Yet I understood that Ciara was one of the reasons I’d even survived the grizzly attack. Would I be stealing something important from her if I refused to let her participate in my recovery as well? Maybe this was an opportunity for me to give up some control and allow our relationship to grow.
The next time my wounds needed cleaning, I set everything up on a table, showed Ciara what to do, and let her go to it. “Does that hurt, Daddy?” she asked. “Should I go deeper?” She gave it her very best. For the next week, Ciara was in charge of my wound kit. During those days we bonded like we never had before.
More than anything, however, what stuck out the most as truly different in my new life was the first few moments of each day. I had always gotten up early and was quick to focus on my priorities for the day. I had goals to achieve, after all.
Now, however, I was in no hurry to leave the bed. I gazed at our ceiling fan and waited for slivers of yellow and orange sun rays to slip over the sill of the bay window. Work was still important, but it could wait a few minutes—I was loved even if I didn’t conquer the world that day. I listened to myself breathe and let my mind wander. Often, I returned to the same amazing thought, that I was honestly thankful for the grizzly attack.
It was both strange and wonderful. “Joy” and “peace” weren’t just nice words you’d read on a Christmas card. They defined my whole being in those moments.
Not that all my problems had suddenly been solved. I experienced a measure of post-traumatic stress and preferred to be alone for hours at a time. I never had any nightmares, but images of the attack played in my mind like a recurring TV commercial. So many people asked about what had happened and wanted to hear the story. Yet each time I talked about being mauled, I could see in the eyes of my listeners that they really had no idea what it was like. I grew more and more frustrated with each retelling. When I was a firefighter and something traumatic happened on the job, invariably several of us went through it together and could talk about it afterward. This time, I sensed that no one truly understood. I started feeling as if I were going to explode.
My release turned out to be writing. Less than two weeks after my homecoming, I began typing out the events in Alaska and what I thought about them. Recording my feelings was more cathartic than I could have imagined.
I was also encouraged by the support of well-wishers. Late one night, for example, I took a call from Chris, one of the Fish and Wildlife agents who’d worked with Matt. It wasn’t anything official, just one man reaching out to another and asking if there was anything he could do. It was a gesture I deeply appreciated.
Of all the encouraging calls and messages I received, however, the most meaningful arrived about a week after I returned home. Dad had stayed with us an extra four days after escorting me back. He wanted to make sure that I was going to be fine. About four days after he left, he sent an email.
“I’ve been up all night,” he wrote. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you. I know I came so very close to losing you out there. I just want you to know that I love you very much and that I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
Over the years, my dad had changed. He’d learned to move past the persona of the stoic alpha male and let out more of his compassion and feelings. He’d gone out of his way to establish a relationship with all three of my kids. No conversation ended without Dad telling each of them that he loved them. He enjoyed giving the kids gifts, handing them cash as a reward for good grades, and taking them to the movies. He never said so, but I think he was trying to make up for lost opportunities. I could definitely relate to the idea of resetting your compass heading.
Despite his new attitude, though, that email was an astonishing thing for him to write. It revealed a level of affection I’d never seen before. To me, it was confirmation of my awakening in the wilderness and in that hospital bed—that my dad really had always loved me. The divorce and his departure were not because of anything I’d done. He was a man trying his best to play the hand he’d been dealt, just as I was.
Perhaps more important, I realized that if Dad had known about the darkness that would engulf me after he drove away, he never would have left.
It took me two days to email back, because I wanted to get the words right. I finally wrote, “Hey Dad, thank you so much for the email you sent. It just completes everything that the Lord had begun and worked through that day. I’ll never forget you dropping everything and being there at Matt’s house when I arrived, never leaving my side, getting me home, and taking care of my family. I’ll always keep your email. Thank you for speaking to me from your heart.”
I had spent so many years believing so many lies. It should never have taken being clutched in the jaws of a grizzly for me to finally understand what was important in life. Now, however, I wouldn’t trade my tangle with that bear for anything in the world. It was allowing me to live with a new perspective and a peace I’d never known. And it had blessed my family. I was glad to have a chance to make up for lost time.
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AS THE WEEKS AND THEN months of my recovery str
etched on, a strange thing happened. Rhea’s friends came to visit her at the house and inevitably asked me about the bear attack. After I related what had happened—by now I felt less stressed about sharing the details—their universal response was “You’ve got to tell that story to my husband.”
So I did. My male audiences were nearly always riveted. I found myself saying, “I don’t know what you believe, but I can’t tell this story without sharing about the miracles that God did, the ways he interceded and changed me.” I talked about standing at the lip of the abyss, with death calling for me, and coming to realize that instead of career achievements it was relationships that mattered.
My story seemed to have an impact. Unexpectedly, talking about it resonated in a new way with me. I realized that many men had wounds that created a distance between them and their wives and kids. I sensed that the Lord wanted me to keep sharing about what had happened to me and how we get disconnected from what is most important.
I was particularly encouraged when Gene, a local pastor and author, took time out of his busy schedule to listen to my story. By this time I was already thinking in terms of reaching men on a bigger scale. Gene’s enthusiasm confirmed to me that I was on the right track. Whether it was speaking opportunities, a book, or a ministry, I’d found a new channel for my passion for making a difference—one where my sense of value didn’t depend on the outcome.
I was done with collecting glittering trophies that in truth were more like trash. Now I was after treasure. For the rest of my days, I would cherish the people I loved. I was grateful for them beyond words—and for a daddy in heaven who’d been there for me through it all, and was there for me still.
LIVE LIKE YOU WERE DYING
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Most men long for adventure and conquest. We have written into our DNA a warrior spirit, a passion to achieve. What I didn’t understand for so many years, what I believe many men are searching to discover, is that the primary purpose for this deep-seated desire has nothing to do with careers, making money, or hobbies. The purpose of our passion is to pursue meaningful relationships with God and our families.
Are you, like me, a man who’s been shooting his arrows at the wrong target? Can you relate to the idea of dedicating yourself to being the best at whatever you do while having a nagging suspicion that what you reserve for God and your wife and children is “leftovers”?
Men, our families need us. For so long, pleas for attention from our wives, daughters, and sons have fallen on deaf ears. They are desperate to have their cries heard. I’m sure if Rhea and my kids were given the option, they would trade away all my achievements for more time spent in my arms. Your wife and kids want to know that they come before all other things. Even though they would never ask, they need to know that you would lay it all down for them.
If you’re a man reading this book, I hope it has inspired you to reorder your life and make relationships your priority. It doesn’t mean walking away from other pursuits you enjoy and find meaningful. It simply means diving into what you were designed to do and watching it change everything. If you’re a wife, girlfriend, daughter, or other female relative reading this book, I hope you will use it as a tool for reaching out to the men you love and helping them discover what it took me so long to see.
Several years ago, country singer Tim McGraw released a song called “Live Like You Were Dying.” Those simple words define who I am today. As crazy as it sounds, I wish that every man alive could stare into the face of death and be given one last shot at getting it right.
On a business trip a while back, I visited Arlington National Cemetery near Washington, D.C., the final resting place for more than four hundred thousand of our nation’s military heroes. The view is stirring—endless rows of white crosses and marble headstones aligned on a sea of green grass. In my time there, I did not locate a single inscription that described the fallen service member as a great pilot, sailor, or soldier, or as someone who fought the toughest battles or who built a successful business. No, the engravings on those headstones spoke of relationships. Most concluded with the statement “He was a loving husband” or “He was a loving father,” or a combination of both.
If you died today, how would your headstone read? If you don’t like the answer, it’s not too late to write a new one. You—and your family—will be eternally grateful.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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The writing of this book would have never happened had not my brother, Matt, and the Lord Jesus Christ intervened to save my life. For a man to go head-to-head with a massive grizzly is not for the faint of heart. Thank you, Matt! There is no doubt that when I looked into the eyes of death, one reason above all others inspired my fight to survive: the desire to see my family again. Thank you Rhea, Casey, and Benjamin for your never-ending love and for praying me past the moments I thought it was all over. I felt every prayer you lifted. To my eleven-year-old daughter, Ciara: God used you in a special way. When I couldn’t go on, it was your voice I heard telling me to “Fight, Daddy.” Thank you, honey.
Dad, because of you I had the tenacity to fight and the common sense to overcome the obstacles that stood in the way of me surviving. There is no way to tell the world how much I love you except to say, “When I grow up, I want to be just like you, Dad.” To my best friend, thanks for being there.
A deep, heartfelt thank-you goes out to the Central Peninsula Hospital staff and flight crew; Agent Chris Johnson of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service; Jeff Selinger, wildlife biologist; and the rest of the first responders who laid their lives on the line to help rescue my brother and me. Having spent over twenty years as a firefighter and emergency manager, I was impressed by the level of response.
Last, but certainly not least, I would like to extend sincere thanks to those who made it possible to bring my story to print. None of this would have happened without the work and passion of my editor, Beth Adams; literary agent Michael Palgon, who believed in me; and the gifting’s of writer-editor Jim Lund. To my dear friend Ted Nulty, thank you for inspiring me to write my story. And finally, thank you Ryan Utecht for listening to God and securing me the opportunity to be published.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
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Greg Matthews, driven by a passion to help those who cannot help themselves, has dedicated most of his life to defending our nation and safeguarding the lives of others. After serving in the U.S. Air Force during the Desert Storm and Desert Shield wars, Greg’s roles over the next twenty-seven years included firefighter, hazardous materials technician, emergency medical technician, special operations rescue technician, rescue helicopter pilot, fugitive recovery agent, and international consultant on emergency management and security risk management. He designed and executed a national rescue and emergency service program in the remote jungles of Uganda and conducted security assessments that helped protect that nation’s citizens from terrorists. In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, he flew to New York to search for survivors at Ground Zero. He has been a homeland security manager for the City of San Diego Office of Homeland Security and regional antiterrorism officer for Navy Region Southwest Headquarters, where he was responsible for protecting the largest fleet of U.S naval war assets on the West Coast. Greg currently serves as the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) Southwestern Division antiterrorism officer, protecting the nation’s dams, hydropower generation plants, and navigation locks.
Greg is committed to loving the Lord and his family, developing deep spiritual and human relationships, and sharing his message that men and their search for manhood are defined by the quality of their relationships. He is the founder of Chase What Matters ministry (www.chasewhatmatters.today), which is a ministry devoted to inspiring men to discover and live out their purpose, starting with an intimate relationship with God and family. Chase What Matters stands on the core principle that true masculinity is defined by the quality of a man’s heart, his connection to the Lord, his wife, his children, and other family
and friends.
Greg lives in Plano, Texas, with his wife of seventeen years, Rhea, sons Casey and Benjamin, and daughter, Ciara. The Matthews family attends Chase Oaks Church in Plano and spends much of its time watching the kids play baseball and softball.
James Lund is an award-winning collaborator and editor, and the coauthor of A Dangerous Faith and Danger Calling. He has worked with bestselling authors and public figures such as George Foreman, Kathy Ireland, Max Lucado, Randy Alcorn, Jim Daly, and NFL Hall of Famers Tim Brown and Bruce Matthews. Book sales from Jim’s projects exceed three million copies; three of his projects earned the ECPA Gold Medallion Book Award. Visit his website at www.jameslundbooks.com.
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