When the Sun Goes Down

The sun was dipping lower in the graying sky. It was almost 6:15 p.m. and Mom was taking a brief evening nap on her couch. It was a rare respite from taking care of her, and I knew that at any moment, she could awaken. I heard her stir and knew it was the dreaded time of day when the sundowning would begin, a terrible side of Alzheimer’s.

“Where have you been?” Mom said confrontationally. “You haven’t been here for three days!”

Never mind the fact that I had been with her the last six hours. Sundowners Syndrome had robbed her of the day’s earlier memories.

“Now, Mom, that’s not true. I’ve been here all day,” I told her.

“No, you haven’t!” she screamed.

I kept my expression calm and resisted the urge to disagree with her. After all, I knew better. The books I had borrowed from the Alzheimer’s Association stated not to argue because it would only upset the person. I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m here now,” I said in a soothing voice. “Would you like to go sit outside?”

As I helped her down the front porch steps, I could tell she had no idea she was even at her own house. Her eyes had fogged over and she was lost in her own mind. It must have been so scary for her. It was scary for me, too, but at least I could control my anguish when she couldn’t.