As I sat at the computer yesterday, a "Hi" popped up in my chat box. My son in New York. It was a simple conversation with no earthshaking news, but, yet such a comfort to feel him close. Forty years ago in Chile we didn't even own a telephone for me to chat with my parents. There was a waiting list of several years to be able to purchase a telephone line. In our attic I have boxes full of the weekly letters my parents and I wrote over the years on crinkly, thin air mail paper. They were invaluable when I was working on my memoir (as yet to see the light of day).
Last night the news showed Pope Francis kissing an Italian man suffering from a deforming genetic skin disease called neurofibromatosis. Later a reporter interviewed the man. I thought how courageous to show himself to the world. He told how the Pope's blessing and embrace had changed him. Today, as I walked in a crowded entrance to the metro station, a man with the same condition passed me, though less severe. I felt immediate compassion for him and wondered if he had seen the interview with the afflicted Italian. Would people now look at him in a new light without turning away?