He was my father's Pope

My father would talk about John Paul II as "his" Pope. He felt he was a good man, and he vowed he'd be the last Pope the world would see, so high was his estimation. Often, when the Pope appeared on television, he’d lament, "Ah...he's getting old, my Pope", yet John Paul II outlived my father by nine years.
I was at work that Saturday, at a frame shop. We had the radio playing the broadcast from the Vatican, as the world waited for the church's most powerful man to pass from this life. My colleague and I discussed how odd it was, listening half a world away, when the announcer suddenly said, "We have just received confirmation that Pope John Paul, II has died".
We froze, and our eyes locked, and I knew I'd remember that moment forever. My father's Pope was gone.
A childhood icon had left the world, and without even being aware, I'd come to consider John Paul as a good man, the last good man, a reflection of my father's ideals, for better or for worse.
Though I'm not religious myself, I felt the loss of this man acutely, and still mourn that day.