33

I’m 33 years old right now, and I have to admit, I’ve thought a lot about writing this post. There are numbers that just get etched into your soul, and 33 is one of them for me.

Recently, life gave me the most wonderful news: I’m going to be a father. It’s a gigantic milestone, a paradigm shift that fills me with indescribable emotion. And yes, you guessed it, that news came right now, at 33 years old. It’s one of those coincidences that makes you stop and reflect on the course of life.

It’s also the age at which, according to tradition, Jesus died. I’m not particularly religious, but the symbolic weight of that number, associated with an end that led to a new era, never ceases to impact me. It’s a coincidence that makes me ponder cycles, closings, and new beginnings.

But there’s another connection to 33 that’s much more intimate and painful. Last year, my father passed away. It was a devastating moment. As a doctor, I was allowed into the cardiac catheterization lab in his final moments. I could see him, see his heart still beating. It was as if he was waiting for me, as if he wanted to say goodbye.

In that moment of immense sadness and love, my eyes fell on the monitor. And there it was: the number 33. It was my dad’s heart rate just before his heart stopped beating. Thirty-three. The number that now marks my age, the age at which I become a father, and the last reading of my own father’s heartbeat.

These three facets of 33 intertwine in my mind. It’s the end of one era and the beginning of another. It’s saying goodbye to my father and welcoming my own child. It’s an age that finds me at a turning point, my heart full of gratitude, sorrow, hope, and an overwhelming sense that life, in its mysterious complexity, always finds a way to remind us of its infinite beauty and constant evolution.

And so, at 33, I’m preparing for this new chapter, carrying with me my father’s love and legacy, and with an open heart for the incredible adventure of fatherhood.