I am not an historian, so I have no analysis
I am not a theologian, so I have no prediction
I am not a contemplative, so I have no awe-inspired prayer
I am just a woman, a mother, a convert, a wife, a member of this Holy Church
and I am sad
but not hopeless.
As when one goes to a funeral of a holy person (not that I assume you are dying or even near)
and is full of loneliness but also joy
and the knowledge of so many great moments, thoughts, actions that we will never know,
but know are there
(they are secret in hearts all around the world. and yours.)
we have hope.
You, Holy Father, are a gift
not measured in minutes or hours or titles or publications
but measured by love, by faithfulness, by humility and service.
A high and mighty scholar, once called the bulldog of the Church
became like a lamb for us, a lamb to lead us as our shepherd.
and history will not remember the number of days
your worth is not measured in time
but in love
and our cups runneth over.