Each man's death ...

When Father Karol Wojtyla was named pope, there were, of course, the jokes: “Pope Pole the First will wallpaper the Sistine Chapel.”
I like the following better, only in part because it’s mine: “What do you call a person who speaks three languages?”
Tri-lingual.
“What do you call a person who speaks two languages?”
Bi-lingual.
“What do you call a person who speaks only one language?”
An American.
“What do you call a person who speaks eight languages?”
Pope John Paul II.
Perhaps because it followed so closely after the killing of Terri Schiavo, John Paul’s passing – being forecast, being prematurely announced, being expected though it was – was still emotionally wrenching, even to this non-Catholic.
I was in my car, on my way to a friend’s, listening to – of all things – National Public Radio’s “news” broadcast and the segment of the announcement concluded with a musical selection: Leonardo De Amicis’ rendering of John Paul’s reading of the Beatitudes.
Perhaps I am supposed to be embarrassed, but I just sat in my car, bawling like a baby.
All the passion of the day and the previous days, all the sorrow of the departure of a great man, all the drama of the passing of a humane and decent person, all combined to overwhelm me and my emotions.
Lots of stories have been told of his humanity, of his decency, of his strength, of his courage.
One short segment of videotape, though, will always stick in my mind as symbolizing Pope John Paul II: Some tourists, probably American, were chanting, “We love you.”
He raised his hand and, apparently shifting mental gears to get into English, responded, “I … love … you … more.”
The world, with all its continuing problems and miseries, became a better place because of him.
Rest In Peace, Karol Wojtyla, Pope John Paul II.