In my dream, it was time to go home from work. I had enjoyed working my hospital shift but suddenly realized that I had never cared for one of my assigned patients. Patient vitals needed to be taken and then charted; hours of overtime started to accumulate. I heard someone talking and wished they’d be quiet so I could finish my work. Coming to consciousness, I realized the talking was coming from my bedside alarm clock set to radio.

I have always detested the sound of a buzzing alarm clock. Since retiring, I have my alarm clock radio programed to automatically turn on at seven thirty in the morning. Despite this being a full two hours after the time I had to get up for work, I seldom get up right away. The privilege of retirement means I can enjoy laying quietly, relaxing and listening to the radio for another half an hour or more.

The big news that morning, the eighth day of May, was that the conclave in Rome had finished its first full day. According to the news reporters, there wasn’t a single Cardinal candidate that stood out as the most likely one to be chosen. I slipped out of bed thinking, “The conclave will last at least two more days. It’ll be hard for the Cardinals to get a majority vote.”

There were several goals I wanted to accomplish that day. First, I sat down at the dining room table to drink a cup of tea, and jot down a to-do list. A message from my daughter Tammie popped up on my phone. It said, “There is white smoke! We have a new Pope.”

Surprised that the selection had been made so much quicker than I thought it would take, I hurried into my office so I could watch the new Pope give the city and world his first blessing. Before I could wake up my desk computer, another message from my daughter flashed on my phone screen, “He is an American!”

For the following hour, I was mesmerized by the announcement and blessings from the man who would from now on be known as Pope Leo the XIV. He looked in control and confident, but I thought his eyes looked tearful.

I have heard that after a Pope has been selected in the conclave, and he accepts the results of the ballets, he is taken to a room to be fitted for his papal robes. The room is called the Room of Tears because the newly elected Popes often cry. I can understand their tears. Being chosen as the Pope must feel like a type of martyrdom-he will be weighed down by responsibilities and constant scrutiny until the end of his life.

The new pope’s papal name was added to the Wikipedia entry for Robert Prevost almost before he first stepped out on the balcony. The article contained a surprising depth of information about his life. Did the news reporters have that amount of information on each Cardinal in the conclave? I said to Tammie, “He was ordained a priest the year you were born.”

My daughter pointed out, “He was made a Cardinal the week we were visiting Rome and met Pope Francis in 2023. That makes me feel such a connection to him!”

My world is upside down. Doctors, lawyers, many grandparents, and now even the Pope are younger than I am. We have a Pope who uses a cell phone and now people are announcing, “The Pope reposted something I had posted!” Pope Leo’s big brothers are telling news reporters what games their little brother liked to play as a child and how they had teased him by saying, “Maybe someday you’ll become the Pope!”

Few Popes retire, and if they do, as we have seen with Pope Benedict, there is no going back to living a normal life out of the spotlight. I am grateful that I have been able to retire. Each morning when my bedside radio turns on, I will turn over and say a prayer for Pope Leo. This is the retirement job I now hold, along with the work I do every night in my dreams.