We made it to St. Peter’s square in time to squeeze in with the crowd for a farewell to our beloved Papa B. I ran several people over (literally) with the stroller while trying to fight through the crush for a spot on the square, was probably cursed at in Italian, and we settled for being just slightly east of the piazza proper.
Proof, not of my outfit, which was nothing super special, but our presence at said historical moment:
|Angry, work-weary, slightly stunned, squinty mad, and ginger-haired, in that order.|
|Peeking at Papa past this precious Italian gentleman and his dapper outfit.|
|Don’t be fooled by the sweetness. He bit two people in Mass this morning.|
|And this one…I can’t even talk about this one. But he did go 9 hours straight last night.|
|No filter, no edits, just a glorious parting of clouds and a pause in the rain for Papa’s last Angelus. A beautiful and surprising moment.|
The words to his address were beautiful, and you can read the full text here, courtesy of my talented and hard-working husband.
Ciao, Papa, and grazie tu.
Flap it out.
P.S. I made two – 2! – friends after Mass today. We bonded over expensive diapers, a disappointing lack of dryers, and other laundry-related issues. Riveting stuff. I smell slumber parties and karaoke nights in our future…