Fight Against the Night

I believe it’s called “sundowning”. The night is worse for her. The night is when she’s the most confused. She’ll ask me if I know her, and I reply I do. She’ll say she’s afraid because she doesn’t know where she is. I reply that she’s where she is supposed to be, and that she’s with people who love her.

The girls let her sit in the nurse’s station. That seems to help for a time. After a while I ask, “May walk you to your room?” She says yes, and takes my arm. We walk arm in arm, talking about the weather, or how nice her hair looks, or some other small talk. When we arrive at her door I thank her for the walk and bid her good night. I reach in and turn on her light, as the dark seems to be her enemy. I point out her familiar things arranged on a shelf and see a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. I like to think that I help her relax, to not be so afraid.

The day is different. She’s the alpha in the dining room. When I walk by she calls me a smart-alack or swats at me as I pass. She plays the piano but stops abruptly because she’s forgotten how. She tries to tell me something, but can’t find the words. We play a guessing game until her patience wanes and frustration takes over. It’s night again. Perhaps it is new to her. Perhaps it’s déjà vu. She takes my arm….