My first memory of the passing of a pope is a traumatic one: someone murdered him.

Or at least, that's what everyone around me seemed to believe. I was just 13, but I had a sense that something was amiss: Albino Luciani had been Pope John Paul I for only 33 days, and he was relatively young, in his 60s.

The Vatican was secretive about the cause of his death, refusing to release a medical report. The absurdity of what happened (Italians have a saying: "ogni morte di papa" - "every time a pope dies," meaning a rare event) sparked all sorts of conspiracy theories, involving the Freemasons, the Vatican Bank, and foreign powers, as well as some extreme satire.

The front page of the fanzine "Il Male" remains a classic: "È rimorto il papa", roughly "The re-death of the pope". To this day, the death of John Paul I is treated as one of the Vatican's most obscure pages.

It turns out that the Holy See can evolve.

An effort for transparency

The first signs of efforts to fight disinformation with facts appeared after the death of John Paul II in 2005. Unlike his predecessor, a comprehensive medical report was released, detailing the procedures performed to confirm his death. This didn't prevent speculation about the lack of proper treatment towards the end, which the Vatican strongly denied. But it was a significant shift.

I remember that April 2, 2005 (Wojtyla passed right before Easter, a powerful parallel with Bergoglio) because I had just started dating the man who is now my husband. He's a producer for a US TV network, and I was in shock to see his house transformed into a 24-hour campsite for journalists from all over the world. It was where people came to vent, briefly relax, and have a drink during a gigantic logistical and journalistic operation, something that I had never experienced before. The demand for information about the death of a Pope mobilizes armies of journalists.

Family affair

Working as journalists in Rome, our family life has been marked by this constant, unspoken question: Will the pope die (or resign, another unpredictable turn of events) while we are on vacation, perhaps on the other side of the world? In that sense, the pope was very much a family member, someone whose health or well-being can change our lives for quite a long time.

Logistical preparations for the chain of events that the pope's death unleashes - some archaic and fascinating rites, like the Conclave reclusion in the Sistine Chapel, or the smoke's announcement, are unparalleled in the world - have also been a constant family topic at the kitchen table. And now here we are again: the morning of the announcement, we all jumped out of bed, incredulous. I drove my husband and our two sons, who had been hired for the day to transport and guard technical gear in St. Peter's Square, to the Vatican, where the police were already cordoning off the streets.

The author in St. Peter's Square on April 24, 2025, four days after Pope Francis' death (photo by Chelsea J. Carter)

We were slightly shocked. For weeks, we had been in trepidation for Francis' health, but after he was dismissed from the hospital, there was a sense of relief.

When Francis passed on April 18, 2025, the Vatican Press Office released a detailed report of the cause of his death the same night. It should be enough to slow the viral spread of online conspiracy theories.

But as an editor at a fact-checking agency, I know misinformation is social media's hardiest weed.

This pope was bound to be the focus of conspiracists.

Francis used to joke about people who "pray for his death". It's true that he wasn't widely popular within the Curia and in some of the more conservative environments, and this fueled all sorts of false scenarios. Rumors have been circulating for years that he has been dead for a long time and replaced by a doppelganger. Most recently, during his hospitalization, these conspiracy theories gained momentum.

The director of the Holy See Press Office, Matteo Bruni, delivering the updates on the pope's funeral plans in the Vatican press room on April 24, 2025. (Photo by the author)

First fact-checker at the Vatican

The other factor is the Vatican itself, a notoriously inscrutable institution. Conspiracy theories flourish in the absence of facts, even as I have seen the Holy See's procedures evolve toward transparency. They understand the danger of misinformation and were intrigued when Lead Stories requested accreditation to the press room last February. "You're the first fact-checking agency we've ever had," they told me.

The Holy See press badge. (Photo by the author)

Decades of living with preparations for this global story made the papacy part of my family's life. But Francis' death affected me differently.

I felt for him as a human being, for someone you care about. And this is a first, for me, but also for many people I know. This pope was different. Francis's personal touch, his easy-going nature (legendary are his random phone calls to regular folks, just to say: "Hi, this is the pope, how are you?"), his deep commitment to the most vulnerable and the environment made a real impact.

My mom, who is Catholic but strongly critical of the Vatican hierarchy, was in tears the day of his passing. "It's like losing an old friend, someone that I know would care about me, and I never felt this way about a pope before". She's 90; Francis was her seventh pope.

The other day, while strolling by my local piazza, the usual knot of elderly people basking in the sun was deeply engrossed in conversation. I usually expect to hear about the latest football infamy. But they were talking about the pope. "The doctors should have tied him to the bed. What is this nonsense of going around in the square in his condition?", referring to Francis's last appearance on Easter Sunday to bless the multitude in St. Peter's Square. That's a typical Roman way of expressing sorrow: you take it out on someone else, masking it as rage. But it's still painful.

The crowd in line to pay their respects to pope Francis in St. Peter's Square on April 24, 2025. (Photo by Chelsea J. Carter)

Two days before Francis' funeral and six after his death, I went to St. Peter's Square on an assignment to debunk some conspiracy theories that were spreading: for example, that the upside-down crosses visible inside the Basilica are a sign of the devil (they are not: it's a symbol of Saint Peter who - according to contemporary writers - asked not to be crucified like Jesus because he wasn't worthy of Christlike martyrdom). My colleagues in the U.S. were debunking claims that JD Vance had killed Francis. Seemingly, no amount of transparency wipes out all conspiracy theories.

There is, as editors say, no substitute for being there, and I'm glad I was dispatched to The Holy See for this assignment, to close my chapter with this member of my family.

The thousands of people from all over the world lining up in silence to pay their respects had a powerful and emotional effect on me. You could hear all sorts of languages mixing up, the Polish tango dancer chatting with the Argentinian reporter about how much the pope loved that tradition. Proxy for me: the old guy in tears who just came out after seeing the coffin, recounting how he spent days in front of the Gemelli hospital praying for his health, and now prayed for him to rest in peace.