An Irishwoman in Rome: Italy mourns a man who spent his papacy consorting with the poor, prisoners, and sinners

Pope Francis: His surprise trip among the crowds in the Pope Mobile, though in his last agony, was his addio to the people he loved, the people he was part of, as a brother, a father, a friend. Picture: AP /Gregorio Borgia

The Pope is dead.

The news was given Urbi et Orbi — to the City and the World — by his Camerlengo Cardinal Kevin Joseph Farrell, reading the official Vatican statement in a soft voice with a strong Irish accent. 

As an Irishwoman in Italy, that small auditory detail made this profound event immediately more affecting — the simplicity of the statement and its delivery by Cardinal Farrell, in keeping with the simplicity of Papa Francesco’s reign — this ordinary, extraordinary man who spent his papacy, not in pontifical silks or ermine or satin, but in an anorak consorting with the poor, prisoners and sinners, his final days wearing a poncho.

This morning, when I went for my walk at 7am, he was alive. When I returned along the ancient road that centuries of pilgrims took to Rome, and on which the miraculous image of the Madonna of Impruneta was carried in times of war, plague and famine, he was dead. 

Along the route, chirrupy sparrows fed their young. Blackbirds admonished their new-flyers for staying too near the ground. In the midst of the death that would be felt across the world, there was life; small, innocent, representing hope in, and for, the future. They ate, they flew, unaware that in Rome, Papa Francesco was dead. This morning, on that old road to Rome, hope was the thing with feathers.

A nun holds an image of Pope Francis near St Peter's square, after the death of Pope Francis was announced by the Vatican on Monday morning Pictures. Reuters/Guglielmo Mangiapane 

As news spread around the neighbourhood, Italians came out to their doors, onto their balconies, terraces — some had rosaries, others watching the breaking news on their phones or sharing it with friends and family. It seemed we all wanted company, solidarity. 

The agreement was general: yesterday at the Easter services he looked hollowed out, had neither voice nor breath for the blessing that turned out to be his last. 

On TV, as I flick through channels, the talking heads seem to think the same: his surprise trip among the crowds in the Pope Mobile, though in his last agony, was his addio to the people he loved, the people he was part of, as a brother, a father, a friend.

Church bells are to ring in mourning throughout Italy. The first bells for the dead tolling in St Peter’s this morning brought chills, the darkness of their tone reflecting the sorrow of all gathered in the square or watching on TV. 

President Sergio Mattarella, whose brother Piersanti was assassinated by the Mafia in 1980, led the nation in respect, love, mourning. For many, it is he and Papa Francesco who represent the best and deepest qualities of Italy, of humanity itself.

Papa Francesco died on Pasquetta or Lunedi del’Angelo named in honour of the angel who appeared to the women at the tomb, telling them Christ was no longer there, but risen. 

Today, as was announced in Rome, Jorge Bergoglio, Pope Francis, Papa Francesco loved by Italians — believers and non-believers — as theirs, above all others, has returned to the house of his Father, to the arms of the risen Christ. Alleluia.