Memory, a welcoming spirit and the common good

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“I never remember names, but I’m good with faces.”

This is a common lament, and as I’ve gotten older, I fall into this camp as well. I think it’s because I already have so many years’ worth of bits of information crammed into my head.

But the young people who work the front desk at my health club all have remarkable recall of members’ names. When I enter the building I feel like Norm of the TV sitcom “Cheers,” as whoever is on duty will call to me, “Hi, Lisa!” And again when I’m leaving, I receive a cheery, " ‘Bye, Lisa!”

Because these ebullient workers are able to retain scores of names in their heads, I feel it only right that I try to master their half-dozen or so names, too. For me, this presents more of a challenge. I lean in to scrutinize one or two workers’ nametags, repeat their names in my head like a mantra during my workout, and then write them down on a Post-it note when I get to my car. When I return to the club in a couple of days, I glance at my dashboard to review the names.

It’s a process, but well worth it. I’m going to the health club to strengthen my body, and I might as well add in some brain gymnastics, too.

But memory issues are not always as lighthearted as these; they can be of far greater consequence. A recent mailing from the Alzheimer’s Association listed these all-too-familiar statistics: About 1 in 9 people age 65 or older in the U.S. is living with Alzheimer’s dementia, and almost two-thirds of those are women. It’s not surprising, then, that if we find ourselves frequently misplacing our glasses or walking into a room and forgetting why we came, we worry that it might be a prelude to something more serious.

A dear friend, Sister Brian Spain of the Order of St. Benedict in central Minnesota, struggled with Alzheimer’s disease in her elder years, until her death. As her illness progressed, at times she would be in tears during my visit, because she knew that she would soon have to leave the monastery and surrounding college campus where she had lived, prayed and worked her entire adult life, and move to a care facility. Even though this facility was also a Benedictine convent only a few miles away, it was an unfamiliar building, and her closest friend would not be living there.

Remarkably, even as Sister Brian’s health declined, she always remembered my name. When I appeared at the doorway in her new setting, she would proclaim, “Lisa Wersal!” I could tell that her joy was generated by more than reconnecting with a longtime friend; it was also a personal triumph that her mind did not fail her. She remembered me.

Still, her memory did tricky things. She would recall that my husband worked for 3M, and would be able to carry on a conversation about articles she had recently read in the paper about 3M, and then a little while later, she would ask, “Where are you folks from?” This question would then resurface every so often in our conversation. Though her quick wit still flashed through, at times my husband and I seemed to be newcomers she was meeting for the first time.

Many people who suffer with Alzheimer’s have mood swings that are part of their illness. I’m not sure if Sister Brian ever experienced this particular symptom; certainly when we were with her, she retained her usual warm demeanor. She was hospitable to the end (hospitality being a strong value among Benedictines), offering to tour us around the facility in which she now lived. We thought this good exercise for her, and though her former lively gait was now diminished to a slow shuffle, we walked with her as she pointed out the dining room, the chapel where the sisters gathered for prayer and a smaller side chapel for personal reflection.

On one such occasion, when it was clear she was becoming fatigued, my husband asked, “Are you tired, Sister? Would you like to return to your room?”

In true Benedictine fashion, she murmured, “Whatever is best for all of us.”

As the new year unfolds and I recommit myself to learning the names of people I meet, I reflect on Sister Brian’s example of extending a welcoming spirit and being ever mindful of the common good.

Lisa Wersal, of Vadnais Heights, is a retired educator. She’s a graduate of the College of St. Benedict.