The late pontiff embraced those traditionally on the margins of the church and society. Here, some of those he met describe his impact
Pope Francis announced his pastoral intentions from the very beginning of his papacy, saying he preferred a church that was "bruised, hurting and dirty" from being on the streets to one that was cautious and complacent. Although he never strayed from doctrine - to the annoyance of many optimistic liberals - his 12 years as pope were marked by a deliberate embrace of those historically on the margins of the church and society. He wanted a church, he said, for "todos, todos, todos" - which translates into: "Everyone, everyone, everyone."
Here, some of those who met him recall what his pontificate meant to them.
Few encounters can have changed a life as dramatically as the meeting between Nour Essa and Pope Francis changed hers. Essa was one of 12 Muslim refugees who Francis met on the Greek island of Lesbos in 2016 and flew to Rome aboard his private plane.
In an unprecedented move during a trip to the island to highlight the refugee crisis unfolding across Europe, the pope brought her and 11 other Syrians, six of them minors, to the Italian capital, and a new life.
"We were on the plane with him," said Essa, 30. Together with her husband, Hassan Zaheda, 31, and their little boy, Riad, who was two years old at the time, she had fled Syria's brutal civil war. "Thanks to this humanitarian corridor he championed, the pope saved our lives. He gave us a new opportunity - not only for our family, but for thousands who came after us."
Today, Essa works as a biologist at Rome's Bambino Gesù hospital. The encounter with Francis touched her deeply. In subsequent meetings, she was astonished that the pope remembered the name of every asylum seeker he had welcomed.
"I couldn't believe it," she said. "I was surprised. We met several other times in Rome. He wasn't just the head of the Catholic church - he was a friend, a brother to all migrants, the poor, the forgotten. He was the father of all refugees."
Essa followed the news of Francis's hospitalisation in February with growing anxiety and, after he was discharged, she breathed a tentative sigh of relief.
"When I saw him bless the faithful at Easter, I thought he was out of danger," she said. "That's why when, on Monday, we learned he had died, we were devastated. These are sad days for all humanity. Francis is no more, but his message of welcome will endure, and his words will live on in our hearts."
In 2013, shortly after the start of his pontificate, Pope Francis met Vinicio Riva, whose face was severely disfigured by a rare disease. Photographs of the encounter, in which the two men embraced and prayed together, went viral. For many they seemed to embody the new pontiff's approach to those otherwise shunned or marginalised by society: to draw them in and hold them close.
Riva, who suffered from the genetic disorder neurofibromatosis, died aged 58 in January 2024. The meeting with Francis helped him to live a happier life, according to Sandra Della Molle, Riva's cousin and one of his closest confidantes.
"Vinicio was going through a very dark time, he was in real pain and needed something to keep living," said Della Molle, who lives in Isola Vicentina in northern Italy. "Meeting the pope was his return to life."
Before that meeting, Vinicio had led an isolated existence. "Nobody understood his condition," della Molle said. "Some even thought it was contagious. He stopped riding the bus after one child pointed and said to his mother, 'Look, Mama, there's the monster.' He suffered terribly from that."
That day in St Peter's Square, before thousands of onlookers, Francis paused in prayer and laid his hands on Vinicio, as the man buried his head in the pope's chest.
"The pope embraced him without asking if he was contagious, without asking anything," said della Molle. "And from that day, Vinicio's life changed."
Caterina Della Molle, Vinicio's aunt, who cared for him until his death, confirmed the impact of the pope's gesture. "He became more optimistic, more open, he could see the sun even on the darkest days," she said.
Vinicio kept a photo of himself with the pope close at hand. His aunt even printed a calendar featuring the image and distributed it among the family.
"I still have that calendar with Vinicio and Pope Francis hanging in my office," Sandra said. "I look at it often, and I saw it again the day Francis died. I pictured Vinicio, somewhere up there, waiting to embrace the pope once more. I like to think that's exactly how it is."
When George White, a trans teacher from Leicester, met Pope Francis last October, it took a few hours for the significance of the moment to sink in.
"He accepted a book on trans life in the Catholic church, inside which were letters from me and others. He thanked me, and said, 'God bless you'," White said. "It was quite surreal. The Holy Father blessed an openly trans man. It affirmed my human dignity."
White, 31, and three other trans men had queued from 7