By Mercedes Skidd and Beatrice Ellison
On Easter Sunday, we were all so excited to see Pope Francis in person for the first time. As we waved enthusiastically at our Papa Francesco, none of us knew that we were also waving our final goodbye.
We noticed how tired he looked, how slow and slurred his speech was. Though he made the effort to appear before the people, it felt like part of him was already elsewhere. We were worried.
And yet, he spent that last day doing what mattered most to him: blessing his children, fulfilling the essential duties of the papacy and showing us the self-sacrificing love that defined his ministry.
It was no coincidence that Pope Francis died on Easter Monday. Looking back, it’s clear God gave him the strength to hold on until the Easter celebration was complete. I (Mercedes) believe the timing of his passing leaves a bittersweet memory, because now, in his absence, we can more clearly see how much of a blessing it was to be with him when we were.
For those of us who attended the Easter Mass, our memories are all the more vivid and cherishable. Knowing that he chose to spend his final day blessing and greeting his people fills those moments with a deeper weight.
His death just hours later made visible what we may not have realized at the time: that it was a gift, a true sacrifice of his precious remaining energy, that he gave to us. A lesser man might have withdrawn to rest, but Pope Francis chose to pour out the last of his strength for us, his children.
That final gesture only reinforced who he was to us: our father in faith, the Prince of the Church and a living sign of the continuity of our faith stretching back to Saint Peter. Later that day, as we gathered with our classmates to share stories and feelings, we were struck by how his character affected each of us. He bore witness to the Christian vocation of charity, and in doing so, he inspired each of us to live it more fully.
I (Mercedes) remember watching his election on TV when I was about seven years old. I got the afternoon off school, and I was so excited to meet this new spiritual father—this man who would show the world what it looks like to be a saint.
I remember, at the time, how my grandmother commented on how young he looked walking out in his papal white for the first time. On Easter Sunday I saw him again, but now so old and frail. Yet I understand now that his age wasn’t just a sign of time—it was a sign of the love he bore for us through the sacrifice of his time and, especially in his final moments, of his strength.
Attending the papal funeral only reinforced those sentiments we carried from Easter Sunday. After a week of reflection, mourning and paying respects to his body in the basilica, 250,000 people filled St. Peter’s square to the brim with love, respect and sincerity for Papa Francesco.
His death brought a particular gravity to the octave of Easter that wouldn’t have been there otherwise. We rejoice in the resurrection of Christ, while placing our hope in our Pope’s attainment of eternal life alongside his Lord and Savior.
It was hot, and some of us had been up all night to get seats, but we were there for our Pope. At least for me (Beatrice), all politics disappeared that day, and all I thought about was how much the Church loved Pope Francis in death. What an incredible way to close out our Rome semester. These moments will be on my mind for years to come.
Now, as we mourn, we also hope, as is fitting during the Jubilee. We pray for the repose of his soul, entrusting him to the mercy of the God he served so faithfully.
And we pray for the next Pope—that he may carry forward Pope Francis’s compassion, especially for the poor and the forgotten. Pope Francis’s death marks the end of an era, but his legacy continues to shape the Church today.