Those of you who’ve been Facebook friends with me for a while will remember that, in the summer of 2019, I started taking Anna on Surfin’ Safaris and posting reports thereon. I knew my wife was slipping away and thought to put us in the most beautiful settings available, taking advantage of the coastal riches within our reach here in Southern California.
As a writer, I was just having fun, giving free reign to my thoughts as a mediocre, middle-aged surfer; it was a kind of helpful therapy. But the mix of whimsy and tragedy worked so well that I was urged to write up a second summer, during which Anna’s accelerating cognitive decline was chronicled. Gaining more readers, I decided upon a third summer of safaris.
It was suggested that I put it all into a book and, following Anna’s death, in fits and starts, I bent to and completed the task resulting in, “Three Surfing Safari Summers: Bringing Joy to a Wife’s Alzheimer’s Journey.”
After Anna left us, I no longer thought about the care her long decline required as my memories leapt back to the beautiful years of health and happiness we shared together. But when I had to edit the book's galleys, all the horror came rushing back. The Surfin’ Safaris were truly acts of desperation, efforts at bringing light to an increasingly hopeless situation. After all, we knew was she dying.
The resulting book traces Anna’s decline from cognizant, but a little daffy, to complete unawareness of what was going on with her. I have woven in moments from my lost darling’s effervescent career and bits of her inimitable artistry. I did not want Alzheimer’s to define her, as she did not.
If you loved Anna as a friend, as a fashion designer, or as someone you got to know through the drama of the “Surfin’ Safari” posts, (and you know you did), pick it up. I made it a little pricey. I can use the money. But it’s a keepsake of her, my way of reserving a spot on the bookshelves of those whom she touched, of keeping her with us in a concrete form that both captures and transcends memory.
