Ash Wednesday.
This day was probably the best terrible decision I've ever made. I resolved to see the Pope today, even if it meant hobbling down the hill on crutches*, so hobble I did. We left at six; the sun came up when we were on the bus, and was in bloom when we got to St. Peter's and waited to be admitted into the audience. There was no crowd when we arrived, and a massive throng before they let us in. I limped through the crowd (after my crutch set off the metal detector) to the seats Corinne and my quicker classmates had saved in the closest row people with ordinary tickets could claim.
I'll tell you now, nuns don't care if you're crippled.
We waited for a few hours before the Pope arrived. He looked tired; he looked old. However aching and sore I felt he must have felt eight times more, and I wonder when he last time he got a peaceful rest was. It felt like losing him to see him on stage. His message, though, was powerful as always. Though they didn't announce our school, he extended a special blessing to students traveling in Rome. It was as if he spoke directly to us. I wonder if he could see me, because of my hair.
I did not say for Mass after he audience was dismissed. Aleth, Gracie, Stephen, and Alyson helped me back to the villa and up the hill. I think my foot is going to fall off. I'm going to fall asleep.
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*Granted, I had hobbled down the hill the night before to celebrate Mardi Gras.
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