Jimmy Miller's Legacy

“I can’t see my therapist every morning. But I can see the ocean. The ocean is my therapist.”

by Elka Worner 

Twenty years after the loss of her son, Nancy Miller stood on the beach Wednesday morning with a group of first responders. She watched as they adjusted their wetsuits, grabbed their boards and ran towards the water. The men and women weren’t just there to surf. They were there to heal. 

What began as a small group of family and friends to honor the memory of Jimmy Miller, who took his own life in 2004, has grown into a surf therapy program that has helped thousands of people battling depression, PTSD, addiction and other mental health challenges.

“When Jimmy died by suicide, nobody talked about mental health,” Miller said. “It was hidden. It was a source of shame. We wanted to change that, and I think we have.” 

The Jimmy Miller Memorial Foundation, which marked its 20th anniversary this year, offers surf therapy programs throughout California, Oregon, and Hawaii. The program combines group counseling, physical activity, and the natural healing power of the ocean to help those in crisis, from the Wounded Warrior Battalion West at Camp Pendleton, to recovering addicts, at-risk youth, and frontline workers.

“We’ve evolved from a memorial foundation to a leading organization in this burgeoning field of ocean and surf therapy,” said Andy Dellenbach, the CEO of the foundation and one of Jimmy’s lifelong friends.

“It was about how we take Jimmy’s love of surfing and sharing his joy with other populations to try to help them heal from whatever they’re dealing with.”

 Jimmy Miller was 35 when he took his own life. He was the image of the California dream, a lifeguard, surfer, world traveler, and founder of Manhattan Beach’s official surf camp. But a shoulder injury, the end of his marriage and undiagnosed mental health struggles weighed heavily on him.

“When he committed suicide, we were shocked,” Dellenbach said. “There were probably red flags along the way, that had we known better, we could have said ‘Hey something doesn’t seem right with Jimmy. We should intervene.’”

The first summer after Jimmy’s death, the foundation brought six foster kids – deemed “unplaceable” by the system – from a group home in Hollywood to Manhattan Beach. 

“It was life changing for all of them,” Miller said. “We knew we had something wonderful.” 

Today the foundation runs 85 surf therapy sessions a year. Before anyone jumps in the water, they are led through group stretches on the sand, and given a surf and safety lesson. Then they gather in a circle for group therapy with a theme guiding their discussion. Last week’s topic was determination.

A police dispatcher, her voice cracking before she broke down in tears, shared the grief she carries after a coworker took their own life. A Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputy quietly revealed that 15 members of his department have died of suicide in the past year. 

Miller said getting first responders to share their feelings is part of the program.

“The public considers them to be strong, that they can take care of things,” she said. “Here the team shows that they care and respect them. They are cheerleaders for them so they can conquer some of their fears, so they can open up and become vulnerable and share.” 

For Army Special Forces veteran Matthew Pech, that lesson was personal.

Pech, 39, of Torrance, a Green Beret, served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was a demolition expert, clearing explosives, a dangerous job that left him with multiple concussions, hearing loss, and what he describes as “just a little brain damage.” The emotional toll followed him home in the form of PTSD, anxiety, and depression.

“I needed to get things off my chest. It was building up and I was having emotional outbursts at home. I was drinking too much,” Pech said. “Whether it’s things from war, whether it’s things from my childhood, whether it’s things that are happening currently. I just couldn’t let that stress build up.”

The ocean, Pech said, became his greatest source of peace.

“I can’t see my therapist every morning,” he said, standing barefoot in the sand. “But I can see the ocean. The ocean is my therapist.”

Though unable to surf Wednesday due  to recent surgeries, Pech spent 20 minutes treading water before the session.

“I just put my head underwater and listened to the waves and it’s kind of like, if you’re carrying anything heavy on your shoulder, once you get out there, that’s released. It just floats away.”

 Pech, a retired Gardena police officer, heard about the ocean therapy sessions through his treatment program and said they couldn’t have come at a better time. 

“I just got out of recovery. I’m on my own now,” he said. “This is here, the ocean, the community, and I’m absolutely going to come as much as I can, work with the first responders, the guys in recovery and hopefully more combat veterans will get out here as well.” 

As the first responders caught waves and wiped out, volunteers from Mira Costa High School’s Amigos Unidos program retrieved their boards, cheered, and offered encouragement.

The lesson, like surfing itself, is simple but hard-earned. “In surfing we fail a lot. You fall off your board 90 percent of the time,” Dellenbach said. “You get back on the board and ride another wave.” 

For Nancy Miller, the ocean and the circle of surfers, volunteers, and those healing are a reminder that her son is still present in the water, in the laughter, and in the quiet moments of strength.

“Oh Jimmy, Jimmy comes by all the time. There’s dolphins. Jimmy’s a dolphin,” Miller said, touching the dolphin charm around her neck as she looked out at the water.

“Jimmy would be so blown away and so happy because we’re helping so many people and that’s what he loved to do. He loved to surf and he loved to help people experience the joy of surfing.” 

As the sun broke through the clouds, she added softly, “He’s always with us. He’s very much a part of this circle.”