“Tomorrow, we’re going to attend the Wednesday Papal audience in Saint Peter’s Square,” Tammie announced. “This evening we need to pick up tickets to attend. They’re free, but we need to have them.”

Tammie and I had just returned to our Airbnb apartment and felt totally exhausted. The effects of traveling a long distance and walking more than we were accustomed to doing during the last four days had taken their toll on us. As we stepped into the air-conditioned kitchen I asked, “Can we do that later? I want to lay down on the bed to rest.”

Nodding, my daughter admitted, “I want to rest, too. The idea of walking four blocks to the Vatican right now doesn’t appeal to me, either.”

The sky was darkening for night when Tammie commented, “We rested too long. Now it’s too late to get the tickets. We’ll just have to get up early tomorrow morning and get them then.”

The next morning, the dark shadows of night were reluctantly leaving the streets as we reached the entrance of Saint Peter’s Square. Eyeing a tremendously long line of people already lining the nearby blocks, I whispered to Tammie, “It’s only 7:45 in the morning! I can’t believe there are so many people here already! The Papal audience doesn’t begin until 9:00 am!”

Biting her lip, Tammie eyed the line of people and wondered aloud, “Is that line for the people going through security, or for requesting a ticket to get in?” Seeing a guard standing nearby she whispered, “Here’s hoping he speaks either English or Spanish!”

The guard looked at us and wordlessly moved aside a barricade, then motioned for us to join a short line of people further down the colonnade. As we went through security, I noticed that most of the other people in this line were either priests, sisters, or had a handicap.

Our purses were x-rayed, and then we were free to enter. Concerned about not having a ticket and not sure where to go, we approached a colorfully dressed Swiss Guard. Tammie was about to ask about tickets when he pointed us toward an avenue formed by barricades. We followed it across the square and came to another guard. He also pointed us forward toward another avenue of barricades leading up to Saint Peter’s Basilica.

I wondered, “Are we really supposed to be going this close to the front?” As we walked, we came across a stone marker showing where and when Pope John Paul II was shot by an assassin in 1981. I told Tammie, “This is why all bags and purses are x-rayed.”

At the steps to the basilica, a guard met us. He said in English, “Come this way…tickets? We shrugged helplessly, Luckily, he quickly added, “Never mind. It’s okay.” He led us to chairs set up alongside the canopied dais where Pope Francis was to sit to give his address.

In the chairs all around us were priests, and sisters. Seated next to us was a friendly, talkative man and his son who had cerebral palsy. Behind us were a few rows of brides and grooms wearing their wedding-day dresses and tuxedos.

Eventually, a huge crowd of people filled the entire square. As the vehicle Pope Francis rode in drove slowly past them, we heard loud, enthusiastic shouts of, “Viva la Papa! Viva la Papa!” for what seemed a long time. When the Pope appeared, he slowly walked to his chair and sat down. He delivered his message, and then various priests and sisters repeated the message in six other languages.

With his message delivered, Pope Francis then moved to sit in a wheelchair brought to him. We assumed he would leave the area now that he had delivered his message because the day was growing hotter. The sunshine burned my skin. I said to Tammie, “I can’t believe we got to sit this close! Down in the square, everyone’s been on their feet for the last two or three hours!”

My daughter exclaimed, “I don’t think I would have been able to stand that long!” I was just about to answer her when I noticed Pope Francis was greeting all the people sitting in the chairs in front of us. As he moved on down the row, staff ushered those people away, and their chairs were quickly stacked and removed.

Turning to me, Tammie exclaimed excitedly, “We’re going to shake hands with Pope Francis!” We enjoyed watching the Pope interact with the people seated ahead of us. There were sisters that he blessed by placing his hand upon their heads, and he shook hands with uniformed military men. As he approached a woman two rows in front of us, she leaned forward and loudly gave out a joyful African ululation call. I was startled by the long, wavering, high-pitched trilling sound.

Pope Francis not only shook hands with Tammie, but he also kindly reached up and patted her right cheek. When he shook hands with me, all I could manage to say was, “God bless you!”

Later, when the crowds were gone, Tammie and I sat on the basilica steps waiting to attend the noon Mass. We kept saying to each other, “I can’t believe I shook hands with Pope Francis!” and “When I got up this morning, I thought I would just get to see Pope Francis from a distance!”  

This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for many things. High on my list of blessings for 2023 is the wonderful trip Tammie and I took to Rome, Italy, where we were given the extraordinary privilege to meet and shake hands with our kind-eyed Pope!