Primary Progressive Aphasia

A Respite

February 2023

My husband and I have been sorely needing time to focus on each other and rebuild connections. When all this started, I decided we needed to try hitting some of my “Bucket list” items while I still could appreciate the event. First up was Hawaii. I love the ocean, and watching and listening to it restores my equilibrium. It puts me in touch with something that is very old and very deep, seemingly limitless, all of which takes me to the presence of God.

 We have rented a condo on the ninth floor of a building called the Hawaiian Princess. Our condo overlooks the beach and the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, with turquoise waves constantly crashing on the golden shore, only to retreat and do it again. The deeper waters turn green, then cobalt blue, where the sea floor drops away. The sound of the surf is so loud that sometimes it drowns out our conversation. And the wind! On a bright sunny day, we can’t have the sliding glass doors to the lanai open at the same time as the front door because the wind can tear through the condo with terrific force if both outside doors are open at the same time. I experience this by accident when the front door blows open suddenly. The wind begins to whistle past my head, and the blinds rattle. Papers on the coffee table take to the air. I look back and see the front door is ajar. I race to shut it before the pictures on the wall fall down, and while I can still stand upright.

On our first night, as the sun sets, three men emerge onto the beach below to blow conches, one after the other in harmony, and then together in a final salute for the sun’s passing. The feeling I have is one of participation in something ancient. 

There is a certain foreign quality to Hawaii that makes everything more poignant. The birds are beautiful, colorful, and unafraid. They fly away from us, but not very high or very far. They often nest on the ground, because before the arrival of European ships, there were no land-based predators. The plants are unique, too, with unique growth habits and unusual leaf shapes and flowers, at least to the eyes of this northwest American. I see trees with polished white trunks and branches but no leaves or needles anywhere. They look long dead and weathered for years, but at the end of some branches, yellow flowers have opened, proclaiming the triumph of life over death. I am sure more will follow because other trees are just beginning to flower with delicate red or purple blossoms. This must be spring in Hawaii.

On Monday, we have a sunset cruise on the west side of Oahu. As the sun sets, we see a green flash on the horizon, something that only occurs under special atmospheric conditions. We have only seen this once on the Oregon coast after our engagement. Definitely, this was a special event for us, like a seal of approval.

As a newcomer to Oahu, I have no way of knowing which plants are native and which introduced plants, so we head out to wilder environs. The northwest corner of the island is where the surf is roughest and the lands unpopulated. There are no roads, just the sea and the mountains. So on Tuesday, we head north. To get to the northwest corner, we have to drive south to Honolulu, then east and north along a valley running the length of the island, flanked by imposing mountains. When we reach the north shore, we turn west. The road gets smaller, rougher, and then turns to dirt. We pull up in a parking area marked by boulders that face the restless sea of the north shore. We are joined by our guide named Anna. I see something brown skittering ahead of us across the path, long-bodied and short-legged with a furry tail. Anna says it is a mongoose. (I had guessed a ferret of some sort.) She tells us the mongoose was brought in to control the rat population that arrived with the European ships. Unfortunately, the solution is nearly as bad as the problem. Both rats and mongooses wreak devastation on the native birds and plants. They like to eat the hearts of palm trees, which kills them, so Hawaiians now wreathe each palm with a sheath of metal or sometimes a spiral of lights to keep the rats from climbing. They also eat the bird eggs of native species, many of which nest on the ground

Anna points out the spouts of humpback whales on the far horizon. Their population has rebounded in recent years, and they can be found off Hawaiian waters in the winter. I also see in the distance a monk seal alone on the beach, probably a pup that is now old enough to stay by itself for a while while the mother feeds. These seals are endangered. Signs and placards warn us not to approach them. Anna tells us that the monk seal population has declined to about a third of what it once was. It likes secluded beaches where it won’t be bothered, which are rare on Oahu.

Anna is a photographer. She takes photos of Pat and me in that wild landscape at what would be sunset if we could see the sun. I have told everyone this is our second honeymoon, and so it is. We kiss and hold each other like smitten high school lovers, and it is not just for the camera. I find peace in Pat’s arms.

Then it begins to rain. We scoff. As Northwestern natives, we say a little rain won’t hurt us. The sprinkling turns into a genuine deluge. We laugh. I try to lead Pat in a dance, but we are getting soaked. We clamber through deep, loose sand to the car, still laughinThethe sun sinks below the horizon rapi in the tropicsdly, and dusk is short. Within minutes it is dark. We have about an hour-long drive to a remote surfing town known for its restaurants, but since it is Valentine’s Day, the tables are taken. There is an hour and a half wait at one Anna recommended. We sit in the dark in our car, still damp from the storm. Blazing torches light the warm Hawaiian night, and the heated seats in our rental car dry our clothes somewhat. When they call us in, I ask for a hot Toddie and they don’t know what that is. I ask for black tea with rum, and it arrives lukewarm. I guess the idea of hot drinks is foreign to Hawaii. We enjoy a wonderful meal of stuffed pork loin, potatoes, and braised vegetables, having had a sufficiency of raw fish the day before. 

Over the next several days, the weather continues to be wet, with warnings of flash floods. We make it to an event where we will swim with dolphins. It is exhilarating to be in the water with these powerful and elegant creatures. I look in their eyes and wonder what they see, what this is like for them. They are all human-raised, several generations, and have been interacting with humans from birth. The trainer talks about how they teach them to do tricks, and I ask if the dolphins train them. She laughs and says yes, but I think to myself that she doesn’t understand what I am asking. They are not like pet sea dogs, who have to be trained by repeated gradual instruction. I suspect the training is really about them deciding to do what we ask, and they see it as a game. After all, they don’t have anything else to do.

She says that these dolphins will not leave the cove because the open ocean is dangerous and they would have to catch their own fish. Here they are fed and trained, and cared for. They live a long life, longer than their wild cousins. In fact, at some dolphin facilities, the dolphins are let out into the open ocean, but they always return. 

I enjoy the experience of swimming with dolphins, but it also makes me sad. Would I trade my freedom for security?