Four days after Pope Francis was taken to the hospital to be treated for acute bronchitis and fever, I flew to Rome for an unruly mix of motives, professional and personal. In my gut I felt the prospect of his passing, and as his biographer, I did not want to miss this final chapter. I wanted to be near him, or at least near to the flow of information about him, as one might move to be near an ailing elderly relative who has played a major role in one’s life. During more than one of many interviews that fortnight, when asked what he was like and how it was to be with him, I found myself choking up.
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