Signs of Pope Francis’s death historically in Rome

I had no opportunity to say hello. But I stood in line To say goodbye.

After Pope Francis He diedThe editors asked me to travel to Italy before moving next month to take the position of head of the Rome office. I recently finished a eight -year tour of Tokyo and I thought I would cover the twilight of Francis.

Instead, after arriving on Thursday night to help report Funeral She toured the next Francis for the election of Francis, who wandered in Saint Peter Square on Friday morning. I was not planning to continue. I haven’t picked up my press badge yet, and I read the stories of my colleagues about the people who were waiting hours To pass before Pope Francis.

Once I joined the flow of believers, I didn’t want to leave the line. I felt an indispensable cloud to stay.

It was a holiday in Italy, and many local residents stood waiting with thousands of tourists and pilgrims. I heard Italian, Spanish, English and many other languages. There were nuns in their habits, the elderly on the wheelchairs, and the youth groups wearing identical shirts and carrying the identical ligament backpacks.

Despite the heavy police, it was loose, as some people were weaving, going out and passing, as if it were on a busy highway on the weekend. There was not a lot of grumbling, perhaps in respect for the official reason we were there.

I heard a group of Croatia prayer frequency, repeated after a leader who spoke in a small microphone. We passed through metal detection devices to enter the square. A volunteer wearing a green jacket with lemon directed us with a religious wave, pointing to one of the roads and swinging “Baba”, and the gesture is unlike “Uscita” – a way out.

The mood was quieter than mourning. In some respects, it was like any long line, as the mother handed her phone to a troubled young daughter to distract her with a video game. At one of the suffocating points, a woman clarified the volunteer who adhered to her arm. The volunteer smiled on her way by canceling the skilled escalation.

I noticed a man wearing a polo shirt with a badge from the Sharif Auckland section. A long queue to be an easy place to start a conversation, I asked him if he was from California, because I grew up away from Auckland. Michigan said.

The man, Sean Hopkins, 57, was a deputy mayor in Pontiac, on a short vacation with his mother and sister Katrina, 60, who traveled from Florida. His mother, Yulia Hopkins, 85, turned to Catholic when she was twenty years old and married their father; Her dream was to come to Rome.

Mr. Hopkins, who joined the Catholic schools and was a police officer for 37 years, told me that his schedule prevented him from arriving regularly to the Mass, but his childhood in faith linked him here.

Mr. Hopkins also wanted to honor his partner, who was lost in the performance of the duty last year. He gave me a medal that commemorates his partner, Sherif Bradley J. He had exchanged badger throughout the week with police officers all over the city.

As for the Pope, he said: “He looked like a decent man. I didn’t get it in the policy of everything.”

Francis A. Disagreement Pontif: Many loved him, many wished he had done much more, and some believed that he was very liberal and he did a lot.

Payment of respect does not require an agreement. Katrina Hopkins, who said that Francis was “nice”, noticed that people stood in a line “not much because they are loyal but because they want society.” She said this was the last Pope’s gift, and she gathered us all.

A young woman from Taiwan, Chelsea U, 27, met, who described how emotional he was to see the Pope’s body.

The past few months have spent exploring death, visiting the temple of burning bodies in Nepal, and thinking about how to prepare for their grandparents to pass. Nothing approaches the danger of death. Seeing the Pope in his coffin made her feel real sad, partly because she admired his totalitarian values ​​and calls to protect the environment.

Inside Bazilica, people uploaded their phones to obtain pictures of luxury, until a strict security guard was strictly storing our devices. Before I took the altar directly in front of the altar, he grabbed a child wearing a suit and cylinder by his father, the handle on my belt bag, shouting me. I reassured this vibrant sign of a new life.

I had stood in a queue for two and a half hours and I had five seconds to bid farewell. I took a brief look at the Pope in the Red Casok, dumped in Simple coffin Request, slightly forward but not on a high bier. Two members of the Pontifical Swiss goalkeeper identified the sarcophagus as the Queen Guard at Buckingham Palace.

I am not religious, but I bowed my head and pressed my hand together. Addio, the Holy Father.