The woman I spend time with is a puzzle. She knows unequivocally what she thinks about the weather, and the lawn ornaments we pass by. She has crisp opinions about the color of paint people chose for their siding, and the wreaths on their doors. Even a street name caught her ire.

"Stump. What a stupid name."

But sometimes her uncertainty peeks out from beneath the veneer. This morning she was reluctant to get up. The effort exhausted her and she lay slumped under the covers. Finally she ventured out, even more slowly than usual.

"I don't want to get dressed. Maybe I should just go back to bed."

"It's hard to have no energy."

"Not only that, I don't know what's going on anymore."

For a woman accustomed to being obeyed she was on shaky ground. I hugged her and what is more surprising still, she let me.

"Would you like breakfast?" I tried to sound inviting.

"I don't know what I want. What do you think I should do?"

Her mask was gone.

Is this the inevitable door we must all pass through? The one that strips us of bravado and opinions like the outworn clothes they are?

I said she could go lay down again until she was ready. Which she did. Presently she emerged, her spirits rallied if only for a day. I scrambled eggs and warmed up her coffee. She ate it all.

We spoke gently, not to judge or correct. The silence felt safe, as if words are no more important than the cupboard of glass orbs she and her late husband collected from around the world.

And I felt deeply moved to be in the presence of someone who can barely remember her past, traveling into uncertainty alone.