One woman’s visit to the big city to see Pope Benedict XVI

Linda Cacpal is no mere “fan” of the Holy Father. Her enthusiastic admiration of his pastorship is more than matched by a solid comprehension of his message and teaching. So when her need for kidney dialysis prevented her from joining a recent parish pilgrimage to Rome, she jumped at the chance to see Pope Benedict XVI when he visited the United States last month.

“Who knew,” said the St. Elizabeth, Aiea, RCIA director, “that since I couldn’t go on our parish retreat, the Holy Father would wind up coming to see ME? Well, me and a few other million people.”

Here is Cacpal’s lively journal of her adventures to New York City to see the pope.

By Linda Cacpal | Special to the Herald

April 17 - Thursday

My pilgrimage begins on the “Friendly Skies,” going through security and checkpoints not in place when I last took a trip outside Hawaii in 1998. I was anxious that my backpack, which was full of my meds, insulin and syringes, not be stopped so I was sure to pack prescription labels with my name on it. No problems there. I began what was to be a repeated scenario throughout the pilgrimage -- conversations with travelers. I had been given a lei by my good friends to wear or share. I chose to give it away to a gentleman at the departure gate who had been in Hawaii on a business trip and was going back home to Chicago and his wife. I gave him the lei to give to her -- puakenikeni. I was sure she would enjoy it.

Because I have to follow my diets and take my meds as well as do two dialysis treatments on the road, I chose to pack food instead of buy airline food.

The flight was smooth and I was able to sleep. I like flying. It’s like being on a big bus. My seat partner was a woman from Philadelphia so we talked about their celebration of their bicentennial and her cardinal, Rigali. She was happy that I had the opportunity to go to be with the Holy Father.

April 18 - Friday

Ten minutes late arriving at O’Hare with only 15 minutes until my connecting NY flight takes off!!! Had to run/walk down the length of the concourse from Gate 14 to Gate 5 and got there after they had all boarded. Slipped right in.

Uneventful flight to NY. My seat neighbor was a young man who started out in MY seat because he wanted the aisle. I offered to exchange and got my first NY “Whatevah!” Oh, well, the only thing to do was to show some Aloha. He ended up thanking me.

No time to be jet-lagged. Airport Shuttle was late -- so much NOISE around the baggage claim. Buses, trucks and bears … well, maybe not bears. Shuttle was already full and had to climb over to the very back and then wait for about 20 minutes. Who knows where the driver was.

Finally, coming out of La Guardia airport I can see why people want to come to Hawaii. Some of the brownstone buildings look very dreary -- like something out of Charles Dickens -- and we passed a cemetery right up against the freeway. Nathaniel Hawthorne? A lot of steel and dust and dirt. Crossing over what I presumed to be the East River, we started going around side streets, very congested with parking on both sides and people running every which way. The driver said there were lots of street closures because of the Holy Father’s arrival at JFK about the same time we pulled into LaGuardia.

Finally, getting to my hotel, I couldn’t check in until 3 p.m. (it was about 10:30 a.m.) At that point I should have been sleepy (Hawaii time was 4:30 a.m.) but adrenalin must have taken over. I found out was that the Archdiocese of NY had not sent my Yankee Stadium ticket to the hotel as they promised. This was after they were going to Express Mail it to St. Elizabeth’s and it hadn’t arrived before I left. At that point I made sure I had their number in my cell’s “contacts” list. I called. The archdiocese said they hadn’t even mailed it out yet and could I come by to pick it up? OK. It was about seven city blocks from my hotel so I decided to take my first NY cab.

First, let me say that I have never seen so many little yellow cabs careening around any city like the ones in NY. So many near misses! I learned how to step into the driving lanes and hail a cab. You just have to get out there and wave your arm wildly until one stops, get in fast and hang on while he speeds off -- you hope in the right direction. Surprisingly, the cab fares are not that bad. And no matter what they tell you, I had only polite drivers.

Arriving at the archdiocese’s Terrence Cardinal Cooke building, I got up to the 20th floor looking for Sister Maris Stella who was very kind and looked at me like I was going to keel over. I must have looked like something two cats wouldn’t have bothered dragging in, still in my plane clothes, one of those “tired huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” She offered me the employees restroom to clean up (I must have looked REALLY bad) and then took me to see Ellen Stafford, my contact for tickets.

A little background: the archdiocese had to re-issue my ticket because I had asked for a seat closer to the ground because of medical difficulties. Instead I got a ticket for almost the very last row in the very last section high up in the nosebleed section. I felt badly about having to ask for special treatment, but friends insisted I should. Thus, the Journey for the New Ticket.

Anyway, Ellen said “Oh, we just sent the ticket out with the courier!” Needless to say I was a bit disturbed since they had just asked me to pick it up. They called and stopped the courier, retrieved the envelope and handed it over to me. I decided to open the envelope right there to see where the new seat was and asked Ellen “What does ‘Obstructed View’ mean?” There was a pause before she grabbed the ticket back and quickly took another ticket from a table and said “Here. Unobstructed view.”

I had brought with me a seating chart for Yankee Stadium that I found online and checked the location. I couldn’t believe it. “Box Seat 2, Row K.” As far down as you could get without being on the field itself. God’s unmerited favor.

I still had to check in with my dialysis center and meet with the head nurse and the doctor before doing my first treatment on Saturday afternoon. Back to the hotel, I take my insulin, eat some lunch. Back in the cab, trying to find the center. Turns out it doesn’t have an exterior sign and is subterranean. The doctor and nurse couldn’t have been nicer. They too were Catholics so they were excited about the Holy Father’s visit. Back at the hotel. I could now get into my room, clean up, have a small dinner and fall thankfully asleep. I have to be up by 4 the next morning. The Holy Father is coming to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and I have a ticket to “stand in the street” and wave hello.

April 19 – Saturday

The third anniversary of his pontificate.

I suppose some folks would have stayed home and watched it on TV. But I wanted to go and at least show some respect and support after he came all the way to the U.S. Like thousands of others, I wanted to show him that he’s appreciated and loved. He’s such a pastor -- personable, generous and humble. In articles I had read prior to the visit, most people said they didn’t know much about him personally. Well, they certainly know him now.

Searching online for articles on his visit, I had came across the Pope2008.com website on which the Archdiocese of NY was releasing 5,000 tickets to stand on Fifth Avenue and welcome the Holy Father to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The tickets were free. All you had to do was fill in an on-line form and submit it, which I did. I also followed up with a voicemail and an email to the Sister coordinating the tickets, asking her to have the ticket mailed to my hotel. THAT ticket was at the hotel on April 18.

Up at 4 a.m., I’m furiously re-reading the instructions about what to bring, what not to bring and where the entrance was. We were told to start standing in line at 6 a.m. When I got there (temps were in the lower 50s -- very cold for us Hawaii folks) at 5:30 a.m., there was already a huge line snaking down Sixth Avenue and the very nice NYPD officer pointed, “End of the line, please.” Auwe! People had gotten there WAY before I did. Some even slept overnight! And this was just the line to go through the metal detectors.

I suddenly realized I was in a famous part of town! I was standing in front of two huge book publishing houses -- Simon & Schuster and McGraw Hill -- down the street from the Radio City Music Hall, and around the corner from Rockefeller Plaza. Amazing!

Well, we stood there in line, with no movement, from 5:30 a.m. until 8 a.m. We had no choice but to make friends. There were folks from Kentucky, New Jersey, Upstate NY and young people from Catholic schools. The guy in front of me stepped out of line to sit on the concrete against the building and it looked like he dropped off to sleep. We decided that if the line decided to move, we’d be kind and wake him up.

Something happens when you tell people you came all the way from Hawaii. They suddenly realize they really didn’t come far after all. And everybody either has been to Hawaii -- or wants to go.

Finally, hallelujah! We begin to move. I lost count of how many streets and blocks we walked to get to the metal detectors. Some people even started to run ahead of us -- how rude! Three young women started edging up on the line, pretending to look and point at the trees and the buildings as if they didn’t know they cutting in line! Luckily, their chaperone caught up with them and had a quiet talk and directed them back to where they came from. Even if you’re going to see the Holy Father, some things don’t change.

There are drug-sniffing dogs. We spot sharpshooters atop buildings. An NYPD officer with a bull horn is warning folks that although the Holy Father’s motorcade is due at 9:15 a.m. he’s not coming out of the cathedral when Mass ends at 11:15 a.m. He’s going next door for lunch with the prelates and THEN he’ll come out in the popemobile to cruise up 5th Avenue until 1:15 p.m. Yikes!! Did that mean I couldn’t leave until 1:15? That wasn’t in my plan. The tickets had said no food or beverages. I anxiously asked NYPD if I could leave before 1:15 p.m. The answer, yes, but if I decided to come back I’d have to go through the screening again. Oh well, I can’t wave to the Holy Father if I’m keeled over for lack of food, so I planned to leave after seeing him arrive.

We’re waiting. The young people are chanting and singing on both sides of Fifth Avenue. I manage to grab a piece of the curb next to a lamp pole. Two people already have scaled the pole for a better view. People are chanting: “Be-ne-det-to!” Finally, the black vans and motorcycle officers wheel onto Fifth Avenue and … THERE HE IS! … in the black Mercedes with the papal flags on the hood, waving through the window. OK, it was his silhouette, but we knew who it was! People are jumping up and down, screaming and waving and taking pictures. When he passes us, we run up ahead with the rest of the crowd, trying to get closer. Hispanic women behind me are yelling, “I see his little white hat!”

We saw him exit the car, walk up the cathedral steps, turn and wave. I knew he must be smiling at his rowdy American flock. He stood there for about a minute, then gave his blessing and turned to go into the cathedral. That was it! That was enough. Many just stood or sat where they were, determined to stick it out until 1:15. I turned to exit the barricades to get something to eat. I found a place that had a fruit buffet, sandwiches. I bought fruit for later and decided a place called Maxi’s looked nice so I went in for breakfast. I learned why they called it “Maxi’s” -- huge portions … more food for later. I went back to my hotel room and watched some of the Mass at St Patrick’s on TV.

The commentator said that so many people arrived late, the NYPD had lined them up farther down on Fifth Avenue than the pope was supposed to cruise in his popemobile so that they now had taken down all the barricades and re-routed the popemobile to exit the back of the cathedral, loop around Madison Avenue and go down to the far end of Fifth Avenue so everyone could see him. I thought about it for about 10 seconds and decided to walk all the way back again to Fifth Avenue to try again for a viewing spot. Four blocks doesn’t sound far away, but NY city blocks are long to my short legs. Nevertheless, I decided to do everything I could to make the most of this pilgrimage and welcome him to the U.S. in appreciation of his ministry as the Rock of our church.

Back up to Fifth Avenue, some streets are still closed. One more block, please, the NYPD tells me. Three blocks later, I’m able to get within 10 yards of 5th Avenue just behind the cathedral. Lots of folks are there, with children. We wait patiently, getting excited when the motorcycle officers go by and then … There he is! High up, in the popemobile and waving. Of course, we all think, “He’s waving at ME!” He going kind of slow so we get in a lot of waves and pictures. We’re happy. Well, almost. One poor woman, aiming her camera at a certain spot while waiting for him to pass, suddenly had her view blocked by a truck driver who, at the critical moment, climbed up into his cab and OPENED THE DOOR, blocking her aim. She was not happy!

I decide to have an iced tea and rest my feet before hiking back to the hotel to rest before dinner. A blogger friend of mine called and asked if he could come and meet me about 8 p.m. He’s Rocco Palmo, a very nice young man who writes the blog “Whispers in the Loggia.” He and I got acquainted through e-mails, talking about his posts and about the Holy Father. I also e-mailed him photos of our RCIA class. He said he’d be covering both DC and NY wanted to meet me? He seemed intrigued that people would come all the way from Hawaii to be with the Holy Father.

We had a nice long conversation -- about the events so far, the people’s reactions and the texts of the pope’s messages. I shared that he has been amazingly positive about his rowdy American flock, emphasizing all the freedoms we enjoy and how essential it is to continue to support and commit ourselves to the many educational, social and charitable works of the church in America. We remarked that his speeches were delightfully frank and direct.

Even though the subject was painful, his response on the papal plane to the question about the child sex abuse scandal as a situation of which “we are deeply ashamed” spoke to the pain in everyone’s heart. He addressed the topic multiple times. Rocco said that he had gotten a tip that the Holy Father would meet with some victims and he managed to catch Boston’s Cardinal Sean O’Malley to confirm it. The cardinal seemed surprised he knew.

It was nice to have a conversation with a young person so in love with his faith and the church. After that, time to rest. Tomorrow is YANKEE STADIUM MASS day. Another early start.

April 20 – Sunday

Up at 4:30 a.m., out the door by 6 a.m. and up to the NY Hilton on Avenue of the Americas where we had been told was one of the pickup points for a 9:30 bus to Yankee Stadium. OK, I was a little early. Always anxious, I brought a copy of the e-mailed instructions and kept my cell phone ready to call the archdiocesan office’s transport department. I kept re-checking my purse to be sure that my ID and ticket were right where I left them.

I called Laine Siendiel of Ewa Beach, another pilgrim staying at the Hilton, but she was already eating breakfast. I decided to have a bite to eat in the hotel. After getting knocked off my feet by an encounter with an automatic revolving door (they move a little faster than they look), I had breakfast and waited until 8:15 to start looking around for TheBus. Ever anxious to have everything go “right,” I called the archdiocesan office (The Office) to confirm the pickup time and what TheBus looked like. There were an awful lot of buses on 54th Street, next to the hotel.

Let me say right here that The Office was under a lot of pressure that day with the Secret Service and NYPD closing off streets and locking down traffic because the Holy Father would be at Ground Zero that morning before proceeding to Yankee Stadium. How The Office had thought they were going to handle the dispatching of hundreds of buses, I couldn’t tell. All I knew was, I had paid $50 to secure a bus seat and I was NOT going to miss it. I had programmed their phone number in my cell and I was going to use it. Nothing would stand between me and the Holy Father’s Mass at Yankee Stadium. Not after traveling 4,839 miles …

Long story short, The Office kept telling me: 1) Go check the bus drivers (eight big motor coaches lined up on 54th Street) and see if they are going to Yankee Stadium; 2) Your bus will be a “little” delayed; 3) Just 20 more minutes; 4) No one is moving. It’s a lockdown because of Ground Zero; 5) What side of the hotel are you on? 6) Were you there at the appointed pickup time? And on and on …

Eventually, I found 14 frozen people (the temperature was in the high 40s) huddling next to the hotel, also waiting for TheBus. None of them had a contact phone number, so I became the ringleader keeping us in touch with our Bus status. Again, misery loves company, so we all introduced ourselves. We were folks from Louisville, New Orleans, Washington State and our Hawaii. We were doubly anxious because our Stadium tickets came with the instructions to be inside the stadium by noon at the latest when Security would close the gates and the two-hour concert before Mass would begin. It was already after 10 a.m. and some were talking about taking the subway. Then again, we really didn’t know our way around.

I kept calling The Office and asking for an update. I refused to let the person off the line until he could tell me something definite. We refused to take the subway. We had all paid $50 to secure seats and we wanted our bus. Finally, they said they would send a bus to 53rd Street on the other side of the hotel and we should watch for it in a half hour. With my cell battery running low, we ran through the Hilton to the other side and huddled just inside the doorway waiting. After 15 minutes I saw a bus coming. I ran into the street, the driver opened the door and he confirmed he was going to Yankee Stadium. I ran back to the hotel and yelled for everybody to come out. It’s our Bus!

I never saw so many happy faces and was glad, for once, that persistence paid off. We piled in. The driver told us that he had been sent to the wrong pickup point where he was waiting! Auwe! We just wanted to get to The Stadium. It was now 11:30 a.m. Because we were so late, we had to park in a back lot which left us quite a hike to take. A lot of other buses were parked a lot closer. The driver was very nice. He reminded us to write down the bus number and lot number. We knew better. We asked him for his name and cell phone number and wrote those down, too.

Entering the stadium area, we stood shoulder to shoulder, slowly making our way through the turnstiles and the metal detectors. Turned out no one was worried about the threatened noon gate closures -- the security was never going to make that timetable and process all those thousands of people by 12. Again, nothing to do but make friends. I was in line with some Germans from New York and we talked about our impressions of the Holy Father and these horrendous lines. We could hear the music from the concert rolling out. I figure we were about an hour in line before we finally got through both the radiation detectors and the metal detectors. By then, I think they barely looked at my purse!

Once inside, my next task was to find my seat. We were given little plastic bags with a commemorative Mass book, a nice photo of the Holy Father, a special edition of the Catholic Digest, an entire copy of the Gospel of Luke, vocation brochures and a gold or white cloth to wave. Booths sold food. Some folks had been there from the early morning. The lines were quite long and I somehow didn’t feel like I should be eating before Mass. After all, we weren’t going to a movie. So I decided not to eat. Probably a bad decision for a diabetic but I had my glucose tablets to chew on if I felt like my sugar was dropping and they were giving away bottles of water so I sipped that, too. Looking back on that decision I’m amazed that I didn’t get hypoglycemic, not having eaten from 8 a.m. to nearly 12 hours later, at dinner. I didn’t have any reactions. God had his eye on me and in spite of me.

I was ecstatic to find my seat. It was so far down, just off the field. Yankee Stadium seemed immense. The infield was turned into a sanctuary with the papal seal covering the pitcher’s mound. Our seats were in between third base and home plate. I really didn’t pay attention to the concert part -- too loud for my tastes, but one soloist singing Panis Angelicus was terrific. There were jumbotron screens behind centerfield but the images seemed dark. I kept looking around and saw whole sections in white caps. I learned later that they were from one of the dioceses celebrating bicentennials -- Philadelphia. Boston was next to them. Louisville was down to our right and, of course, New York was all over the place.

Every so often, sections would start spontaneous singing and chanting “Alleluia,” substituting “Benedetto!” every now and then. I tried calling my friends on the mainland but only got through to one and we could hardly hear each other over the music. They were very happy for me.

As always, I made friends with the people around me. Apparently I was sitting in the section for the German mission to the United Nations. Peter was there with his wife, son and son’s girlfriend. He was very kind and took a few pictures of me for this article. He spoke about his respect for the Holy Father and the kind words he had for the U.N. staff people on April 18.

Before the Holy Father’s entrance in the popemobile, some young people danced in to music carrying tall poles with fabricated doves. They encircled the infield while some stood on the edge of the sanctuary with larger doves. The theme was “peace.” Then some real pigeons were released and they circled the stadium. Then we waited for the Holy Father’s entrance. I remember thinking that all this was a little contrived but, better an exuberant church than a “dead” one.

We all had our eyes on the guarded gate. Finally, people were screaming and yelling and furiously waving their white and gold cloths. Then the popemobile appeared and approached us, slowly. And …. there he was, smiling at …. ME, of course! He looked so happy and gracious I almost forgot to take pictures for our editor! Peter helped me stand on my seat for a better look and photos. People were so excited. I can’t remember what the orchestra was playing, but it seemed beautiful.

The popemobile stopped by the dugout and he got out to go to the sacristy to vest. The bishops began to line up for the procession with the deacons. The folks offering the Prayers of the Faithful were already seated in the sanctuary. Security was all over the field and even on the edges of the sanctuary. Camera and video people are also on the edges of the sanctuary.

As the bishops and finally, His Holiness, entered, again there arose a sea of voices and waving cloths. Everyone is so happy, including me. Although I’ve seen the Holy Father countless times on video celebrating Mass and teaching at the general audiences and leading the Angelus prayers from Rome, this is different. The 264th successor of St. Peter is HERE, among us. You can’t help but become emotional. I came nearly 5,000 miles not just to see him, but to join in celebration of the Eucharist with him and for us, and to hear his particular message for the American Church. What a privilege!

Many turned to their commemorative Mass books to follow the hymn but I was thrilled to hear “All Creatures of Our God and King” -- well known at my parish of St. Elizabeth’s as a Franciscan hymn -- so I contented myself with singing from memory so I could continue taking photos and waving my scarf. Later, looking at the booklet, I saw the song was listed as “Jesus is Risen,” sung to the other well-known tune. I was so happy that the Holy Father was entering with a Franciscan hymn. He had often spoken of St. Francis as a perfect model for young people since he was a convert and could speak to youth as a model of what it means to sacrifice all to follow Christ. Then, the strains of “Tu Es Petrus” rose: “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I shall build my Church …” It was almost unbelievable that the man who holds the keys of the kingdom handed down by the Apostles should be there, in front of my eyes -- the pastor of one billion of us.

New York’s Cardinal Egan’s greeting, “Welcome to New York, Holy Father,” elicited, of course, another huge and happy response from all of us. When the names of the bicentennial dioceses were mentioned in turn, we could all see by their reactions where they were seated. The Holy Father warmly looked up toward each of them and extended his arms, embracing them.

I thought Cardinal Egan’s deep voice, speaking very deliberately, was very theatrical in a nice way. When the Holy Father presented him with a gift of a chasuble in the papal colors with the papal crest, the cardinal very humanly seemed delighted and encouraged everyone to come to Mass next Sunday at St. Patrick’s Cathedral so they could see him wear it and see how “nice” he’d look. He ended with a very American, “Thanks a million, Holy Father!”

Once into the Mass’s Penitential Rite, I could feel the sense of “being in church.” We settled down. There were no loud noises except for one, “We love you, Holy Father!” punctuating the air and the familiar German-accented English of the Holy Father singing and praying. I marvel that at 81 he still has a good singing voice. I had heard that it might be hard to understand his accented English, but it was very clear. He spoke softly and deliberately.

It was very nice that Spanish was used frequently, both in the Holy Father’s remarks, the readings and in song. Happily, I can understand the Spanish. It made me think about my parents who immigrated to the U.S. from the Philippines (my Dad) and from Mexico (Mom). They were part of the foundations of American society -- working hard, making sacrifices, surviving two World Wars. Being in the land of the Statue of Liberty made me appreciate their struggles even more.

I was eager for the homily. I was so proud of the Holy Father for all his homilies and messages during this pastoral visit, affirming our American heritage and urging us not to forget the foundations of our country, founded on religious freedom and pointing us to the true freedom of the sons and daughters of God. He urged us to put our faith in Christ, to take the Lord at his word, to persevere. And especially for our American ears, that “authority” and “obedience” are not unwelcome words, though they might seem so for a nation that valued personal freedom. I had heard him say on many occasions that obedience is a Christ-like virtue -- one of total self-giving, giving without reserve. Our obedience can be a beautiful gift to God and for ourselves. Obedience, while it carries a sort of “binding” sound, really sets us free.

And, of course, he made another special appeal to the youth, his “dear young friends,” to open their hearts to Christ, especially in vocations. Every time I hear an appeal for vocations I sort of wish I were young again. I’d be a missionary; I’d be a religious. But I have to trust that God had other plans for my life and needed me to take care of my parents in their frail years. They were Christ for me -- needy and wanting my loving presence.

As we moved into the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I could feel us all focus on the great gift all priests give to us, the gift of the Lord’s Body and Blood on the altar of sacrifice. I was glad to see that for such a large assembly, we were all pretty much focused on Eucharist, quiet and listening to the voice of our Holy Father offer what is my favorite Eucharistic Prayer -- the Roman Canon. I love hearing the names of the saints and martyrs, our heritage in faith, models in sanctity. I silently added our own St. Elizabeth and our Blesseds, Damien and Marianne, and all my sainted friends at St. Elizabeth’s and our dear pastors, Father Mike and Father Gordon.

That’s one thing I like about the Catholic Church -- you’re never alone. Even when one is without biological family, the spiritual family of Jesus Christ sustains and supports you. Parish life is so important. Indeed, as the Holy Father said at his inaugural Mass on April 24, 2005: “One who believes is never alone.” Although we couldn’t kneel at the consecration, I tried to kneel interiorly.

Communion went very well with so many priests assisting. Looking up, I saw priests with ciboria already in the upper reaches. Down below, our priest only had to give Communion to four of us in each row so he moved very smoothly to each row.

The concluding rites and final blessing couldn’t have been more joyful, while we sensed this was the beginning of our last sight of him. I brought 100 holy cards of St. Joseph and my own miraculous medal for His Holiness’ blessing. I thought it would be a simple way to share both his blessing with my friends at St. Elizabeth’s and a remembrance that the Holy Father celebrates a name day with St. Joseph, since by birth he is also a Joseph.

The beautiful strains of “Ode to Joy” brought the Holy Father out in recession to even louder farewells, kisses blown his way, furious cloth-waving and, from what I could see, smiles and waves from the Holy Father. How fortunate those down on the field and the priests as he passed by, taking the hands of some, smiling at all. How does he manage it? I forgot how cold I was. Besides, the sun had come out. It wouldn’t dare rain on our Holy Father!

After he gave a final wave and went into the dugout sacristy to remove his vestments, the orchestra kept playing and I saw many leaving. Some bishops stayed on the sanctuary walkway and waved to familiar faces. I thought something more might be happening so I lingered. Actually, I didn’t want to go. You know how you always want a wonderful event to go on and on.

Lo and behold, the Holy Father came out again. More screams of delight! He got into the popemobile and went around the other half of the stadium. The folks on that side must have known -- it didn’t look like anyone had moved. As the popemobile slowly wound its way along I was so happy for that half of the Stadium since many of them didn’t even have a view of the Holy Father during Mass sitting behind the large banner with the papal crest. We all followed him with our eyes and when the vehicle slid back into the tunnel we finally convinced ourselves it was over. We started to make our way out.

Little did I know it would take another hour to move through the tunnel only to come to a dead stop just feet away from the exit. Ever see the movie “Penguins”? We were moving just like that -- walking shoulder to shoulder, hobbling along a footstep at a time, until we came to that dead stop. I couldn’t believe it … we just stood there. I heard voices trying to give directions but I couldn’t even distinguish the words. We saw the light but couldn’t move toward it. It was surreal, but not surprising, considering the morning’s episode with the Bus.

Then I heard an ugly rumor that it was the turnstiles – that only one person at a time could go through, But that couldn’t be it. At least we’d be moving one at a time. I started to panic. My legs were going numb standing so long in one spot. And then I saw some folks ahead climbing stairs. Oh, Lord, don’t make me climb stairs now! Still, no movement until finally we seemed to break free into the air. The first thing I did was find a place to sit down and call the bus driver on my cell phone. I asked if anyone had made it back to the Bus yet. Randy’s reply: Oh yeah, everyone but YOU! No! I begged him not to leave and I could hear a chorus of voices behind him saying, “We won’t leave without you!” OK, the long walk back to Lot 16, Bus #120.

I couldn’t believe all the walking and waiting. I must say that the NYPD were unfailingly polite and patient. And sometimes very funny. And experts at directing traffic. I ran into street sellers trying to sell the commemorative items they had left over. Finally, trudging over the last block I must not have looked too good. A volunteer urged me on. “You can make it -- the gate’s right over there!”

Once inside the gate I couldn’t for the life of me recall what the bus looked like. I put my things down on a concrete slab and thought I would try the cell phone again when a young girl leaped out of the bus in front of me running toward me calling my name and picking up my purse. The Bus was right in front of me. I walked to the Bus and kissed the door! The rest of our Gang of 15 applauded my entrance. They assured me they wouldn’t have left me. After all, they wouldn’t be on the bus if it weren’t for me on the cell phone harassing the archdiocese! My 15 minutes of fame …

Then I realized why they “couldn’t have left me. The Bus couldn’t move out of the parking lot anyway! Hundreds of buses were trying to leave at the same time. We sat there in Lot 16 until almost 8 p.m. Even the driver was getting nervous. Finally we pulled out and onto a bridge. The driver must have felt sorry for us. He took us on a little scenic route back to the Hilton -- past Columbia Law School, the Metropolitan Opera, Fordham University. We enjoyed the sights, but when we got to our destination we literally ran out of the Bus for the safety of the hotel. I hailed a cab, went back to 49th Street and straight into a restaurant since I hadn’t eaten since 8 a.m., 12 hours earlier. Then, back to bed by 9:30 p.m. and a promise to myself that I’d wake up when I’d wake up. But, all worth it.

April 21 – Monday

Today, I promised myself that I’d take my time and walk up to St. Patrick’s Cathedral to take a close look since we hadn’t been able to get inside while the Holy Father was in the city. The cathedral looked like a solid rock that sprung up from the earth with tall spires reaching to the skies and intricate stonework all over. It was beautiful in a solid sort of way. I lit candles at the St. Patrick chapel, giving thanks for all the kindnesses and generosity that got me there, fulfilling a desire that I never thought would come true. Who knew that since I couldn’t go on our parish retreat in Rome and Assisi and the general audience because of my kidney dialysis, the Holy Father would wind up “coming to see ME”? Well, me and a few other million people.

I also wanted to pray for our precious Franciscan Capuchin priests who staff St. Elizabeth’s and have been so good for us. The cathedral was especially dear since Father Mike was ordained there. I took advantage and walked all around, ending with a meditation at the Adoration Chapel and a prayer before the Pieta. I prayed that Mary would guide and protect me as she loved and cared for her Son.

I had a chance to read some of the newspaper articles about the papal visit. Everyone talked about how their impression of Benedict was now overwhelmingly positive. He was personable, gentle, direct, and had what one journalist called a charisma of humility. People found themselves attracted to his simplicity.

Everyone also remarked on how well and fit he looked. He can scoot up and down stairs and kept to a schedule that was jam-packed with events and more than 15 addresses.

For me, although his eyes always seem to be “looking” he was very serene and never seemed to get upset or anxious. He was also very courageous to take on issues such as clerical sex abuse. He’s a little lion.

I thank the good Lord that he allowed me the means and the opportunity to undertake the pilgrimage. There’s something about the Holy Father that makes you want to please him. Perhaps it’s the sense that he, too, is striving each day to live the Gospel and to radiate God’s love. If he can keep to the Journey, the least I can do is try to keep pace.

Amen.