![](\"/uploads/pope-jp2.jpg\")
Today, many things have made me think about death.
Pope John Paul 2 has died. For me, who had no connection with Catholicism when I lived in Japan, he was the Pope. When he came to Nairobi, I was mobilized and went to wave a flag. When I visited the Vatican, a Japanese priest who happened to be there took me farther inside. While telling me that the Pope was not there that day, he explained that this was where the Pope normally prayed, and I remember that now. He was the first non-Italian to become Pope in more than 400 years, and because he was Polish—a nationality among whom I have many friends—I felt a great affinity with him. It is also well known that he played an important role in the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe. I had thought he was extremely old, but he was still only 84 years old. It shows how young he was when he became Pope.
Even so, it is a beautiful spring day. The cherry blossoms are dazzling.
On a gentle spring day, bright with tranquil light, I quietly learned of the Pope’s death.
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