Take, Lord, My Memory

When I was a young stay-at-home mom, I earned a little income and kept myself intellectually active by giving guitar lessons. Sometimes, as often happens when teaching, I learned as much as I taught.

The St. Ignatius Prayer

One of my students, an older man from our parish music ministry, was learning the hymn, “Take Lord, Receive” by John Foley SJ. The lyrics are based on St. Ignatius’ prayer: “Take, Lord, receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, my whole will, all that I have and all that I possess. You have given all to me, Lord; now I return it. I yield it to be ruled directly by your will. Give me your love and your grace, and I am rich enough, nor do I ask for more.”

After we reviewed musical aspects of the hymn, my student told me about a retreat during which he spent a significant amount of time preparing to say this prayer. I don’t recall exactly how long, but it was something like a week. As a twenty-something new mother, I marveled at the idea of preparing for a prayer. In the years since then, I’ve come to realize that, yes, to make such an act of abandonment to the Lord requires some preparation.

Post-Concussion Syndrome

Fast forward some decades, and I find myself a grandmother to four little ones. Recently, I had to curb my babysitting duties due to a pair of freak accidents that left me with post-concussion syndrome. Even after the headaches passed, cognitive issues persisted. I could not write coherently, do mental math, or remember things from one minute to the next.

An incident from my music ministry illustrates the severity of the problem. The organist who was accompanying my ensemble had a question before Mass that needed a prompt reply. I went to the sacristy, asked the question of the celebrant, got an answer, and returned immediately to the organist. By then, I had forgotten the answer. It was a simple “yes” or “no.” In thirty seconds, I had forgotten.

For a month or so, this didn’t raise serious concern for me or my family. My daughters covered my embarrassing memory lapses by explaining glibly, “Mom’s concussed.” Two CT scans had shown nothing of concern, so it seemed just a matter of waiting out the concussion symptoms.

Uncertain News

Then it became two months, and longer. I couldn’t remember what to say in confession. I forgot the lyrics to songs I had known my entire life. I had brain fog much of the time, and was sleeping 10 hours per night.

My neurologist ordered an MRI. It was weeks before I received the results. During that time, I had a follow up appointment with my primary care physician. Looking at the MRI results on her computer, she told me, “No brain bleed, no mass,” and then was quiet. She murmured something about a finding involving the blood vessels that I should discuss with my neurologist. She said it could be mild, and that there was medication for it.

No one likes to hear uncertain news. What exactly we were facing, I could not know. Clearly, my primary care doctor didn’t feel qualified to explain whatever finding the MRI showed. But my months-long series of memory lapses now seemed to be ominous clues to the early onset of some kind of cognitive decline. The only hopeful point was that it seemed that my memory had been improving since the MRI.

It would be five days before the neurologist appointment, which was time enough to do internet searches that produced more anxiety than they did answers. My husband and I chose not to tell the rest of the family about the possibility of a poor outcome from the MRI, until we had a clear explanation from my neurologist.

“Take, Lord, My Memory”

About this time, I thought of the St. Ignatius prayer. The phrase, “Take, Lord, … my memory,” had acquired new meaning. It resounded in my mind. “Can I really pray that?” I wondered. Five years ago my aunt, who is also my godmother, passed away after suffering dementia for several years. It was daunting to imagine losing myself in that way. How could I ask God for that fate?

I wish I could say that I totally embraced the uncertainty of those five days, that I came to the grace-filled conclusion that whatever God willed was for my own good and my family’s welfare. I knew that was true, and I dutifully prayed the St. Ignatius prayer. But deep down, I was not whole-heartedly accepting that cross.

Sacramental Healing

The day before the neurologist appointment, I went to confession at a shrine near my home. The chapel where daily Mass occurred was quiet and serene, the statues covered with Lenten purple. There was more going on with me than the MRI results would show. My soul needed peace in ways that pre-existed the concussion. The anxiety I felt over my memory issues was only half the story.

Catholics with anxiety often exhibit it with excess scrupulosity in our faith life. Faults and absent-minded mistakes seem like mortal sins. We might think that our confessions are not detailed enough to be valid. Consequently, we may feel hopelessly unworthy to receive Holy Communion. We may repeat prayers, fearing we lacked attention or devotion the first time. Saying a rosary can take hours. Not that time in prayer is ever wasted, but if we constantly grill ourselves over our piety, we are not at peace.

The holy priest who heard my confession picked up right away on the anxiety that plagued me. He recognized scrupulosity, and offered a perspective that cleared up some confusion my confession had revealed. Most helpful to me was the priest’s reminder that our Lord is in the confessional with us, understanding better than either of us the sins I confess and the nature of my heart. When I recited my Act of Contrition a moment later, it was to Jesus that I spoke. How deeply comforting it was to hear the priest say, “All your sins are forgiven.”

I left the confessional and wept for sheer joy. And I forgot, for that hour or so, that I had any looming medical news. I knew only that I gave my heart and soul to the Lord, who knows me better than I know myself, and who loves me beyond my understanding.

Changed by Experience

Early the next morning, the nurse in my neurologist’s office questioned me about my symptoms. I reported that headaches were gone, my balance was good, and I was able to add a list of numbers in my mind accurately. The neurologist entered and we went over the MRI results. Praise be to God, the blood vessel damage which the test revealed was deemed as typical age-related changes. Unless I develop new or worsening symptoms, no follow up is needed.

Relieved and happy, I relayed the news to my husband. I then texted my daughter to ask if there was anything I could do to help with her little ones today. Life would go on as before.

Yet I am changed by this experience. A false alarm makes us more keenly aware of the uncertainty of our earthly journey. It also can affirm our deepest values. When Jesus healed people, he first forgave their sins. As I look back on that week, the highlight is the healing I received in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Even with my good report from the doctor, the future is never certain, for anyone. Just this week, I learned that a woman in our parish was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. She is younger than I am. I can only imagine what she and her family are feeling. I pray for true, spiritual healing for this woman and her loved ones, for all who experience unpleasant or frightening diagnoses.

Real healing comes from the One who holds our hearts, our minds, our memory, and our entire will, if we let Him. He is the resurrected Jesus.