Have you heard of sundowning? Those with a loved one dealing with dementia will know this term, for the restlessness and anxiety that arrives as the sun starts to set and day turn to dusk.
Our longtime neighbor, Bill, is taking care of his wife, Julie. All day and night, every day. They go to walks around the neighborhood, they go to baseball games and restaurants and meet with friends, always together. But Bill has one event each Saturday when he leaves Julie at home. And so far, he is sure she will be fine alone in their house where they have lived over 40 years. Fine, that is, until sundown. Then he knows she will not be fine.
So Bill finally accepted our offers of help, and neighbor Eileen and I make a visit to Julie each Saturday around 4:30, until Bill gets back home.
As Eileen and I meet up on the sidewalk, Julie’s front door opens and closes, quickly. When we knock she greets us cheerily. Julie is a gracious host and we sit on the back porch if it is warm, or in the cozy yellow and blue living room. We share cookies Eileen has brought.
And we figure out how to stick to comfortable topics and Julie is her happy, gregarious self even though sometimes her perambulations around forgotten words and times are not coherent.
But as the day progresses toward sundown Julie cannot hide her anxiety altogether. Her hearing is super acute, aware of anything happening outside they house. She talks of the river close by (its not) and the huge 3,000 car parking garage under the house across the street, “They shouldn’t have that there.” Our alleyways have recently been torn up and re-paved and she quietly obsesses over whether the workers should have done that and will they ever be finished (they are.)
It makes me so sad that the friendly alley that runs along the side and back of her home causes my friend Julie such anxiety. She pretends its all okay but in her uncertainty brings it up again and again. And while we chit-chat she is listening, and she bolts to the door and opens it with relief to her Bill, before Eileen or I even hear him.
Pencilonmybackporch 
This is such a rich and layered post. There’s so much love infused throughout it, along with loss and heartbreak. You capture all these layers so deftly with your descriptions. That keen hearing that detects imaginary threats yet also tunes to the approach of a loved one is especially poignant.
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Your details really show the love and anxiety that everyone has on these Saturday evenings. You write in a way that puts me right on the sidewalk with you and also on the couch eating the cookies while also feeling the anxiety and sadness.
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I know about sundowning. And I also know how lovely it feels to get a break and be able to leave for a little while and know your person’s ok. Thank you for making this part of your routine. What a gift for Bill.
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How hard. How wonderful that you can give Bill a bif of a break and some comfort to Julie. You painted the scene so clearly.
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‘her Bill’ … what a beautiful sentiment
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A heartbreaker, Fran, and way too close to home for me. My mom died after years of living with dementia—we were lost to her, and she to us before the end. I do remember the “sundown” phase. Music helped my mom. I am so glad you can help Bill—”her Bill.”
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Such a powerful small moment. I did not know about sundowning. The strongest part of this slice is how I feel her anxiety. I also feel your kindness to help your neighbor get through until Bill returns. “comfortable topics” You are a good neighbor!
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Thank you for sharing. My mother has dementia. She is scared about many things. But she is fine at sunset. This maybe she is never alone at that time.
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So glad Julie has a good neighbor like you. Sundowning is so strange to me. I have experienced it with both my mother-in-law and father-in-law. It can be such a sad and helpless phenomenon. I tried to listen and respond and comfort like you did.
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Ah, this is touching, heartfelt, and challenging, I echo what the other commenters have said. She’s lucky to have you in her orbit.
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In this beautifully sad slice, I learned a term to name what I’ve witnessed from afar. Your description of the rising anxiety resonates deeply. Thank you for sharing this powerful writing, and even more powerful actions to support your neighbors.
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