The First Time I Became a Father
There are days when life changes little by little. And there are others when everything changes in a single instant. October 10, 1972, was one of those days. But to understand what Marco's birth meant to Dorina and me, I actually have to go back a few months. Before Marco arrived, we had lost a child. Dorina had suffered a miscarriage. It was a painful experience that may have been spoken about less in those days than it is today.
We tried to continue. But what had happened remained in our thoughts. After the miscarriage, the doctor had expressly advised us to wait at least a year before considering another pregnancy. In his view, the risk of further complications was too great. We took that warning seriously. We were young. We deeply wanted children.
But Dorina's health came before everything else. So we absolutely did not expect another pregnancy to happen so quickly. And yet it did. Only a few months after the miscarriage, Dorina discovered she was pregnant again. With Marco. Normally, such news should bring nothing but joy. For us, it was different. Of course, we were happy.
But that joy was immediately accompanied by fear. The doctor's words were still fresh in our minds. We should have waited a year. That year was far from over. What would this new pregnancy mean for Dorina? Would her health be endangered? Would the child be healthy? Would there be further complications? Suddenly, what we had wanted so deeply also became a source of fear. We hoped.
But we doubted. We had faith. But we were also afraid. Looking back, many of those worries fortunately proved unnecessary. But at that moment, we had no way of knowing. We could do nothing but move forward carefully. Day by day. Week by week. And hope everything would go well. There was another uncertainty as well. Our financial situation was far from easy. Dorina worked as a teacher, but she did not yet have a permanent appointment.
Her salary was not always paid regularly. Sometimes we had to wait a long time before she received her money. For a young couple who had barely begun their life together, this regularly caused financial difficulties. At the time, we lived in an apartment on Hasselt's inner ring road. We had no large reserves. Every franc mattered. There were bills. Daily expenses. And now a child was coming.
Yet I do not remember us ever asking whether we wanted Marco. That question did not exist. From the moment we knew he was on the way, he was our child. Our concern was not about his arrival. It was about the safety of Dorina and the baby during the pregnancy. Month after month, the child was not the only one growing. Our hope grew too.
Every week that passed without major problems brought us closer to the moment when we would finally dare to believe everything would be all right. Then came October 10, 1972. At Virga Jesse Hospital in Hasselt, our son was born. Marco. When I saw him for the first time, something happened within me that I will never forget.
To me, his birth was the greatest miracle I had experienced until then. After all those months of uncertainty. After the miscarriage. After the doctor's warning. After all our fears and hesitation. He was there. Healthy. Alive. Our son. I thought he was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Of course, perhaps every father says that about his own child.
But to me, it was truly so. I looked at him and could barely believe this little being was our child. All the tension I had carried for months seemed to release at that moment. I cried. Not merely a few tears. I cried for hours. With happiness. Relief. Gratitude. Everything came out. All those worries that had fortunately proved unnecessary. All those unanswered questions.
All those nights when we had hoped everything would go well. Suddenly, none of them mattered anymore. Marco was there. And he was beautiful. When I held him for the first time, I barely dared to move. He was so small. So vulnerable. So perfect in my eyes. His little hand closed its fingers around one of mine. It was such a simple gesture.
And yet it changed my entire life. I looked at him and only one thought filled me: this is my son. At that moment, I understood that I was no longer responsible only for myself. Dorina and I were no longer merely husband and wife. We had become father and mother.
From that day forward, a little human being would depend on us. He would look to us. Learn from us. Seek our protection. And without knowing it, he would teach us what it truly means to love someone unconditionally. That realization humbled me. I wanted to be a good father. Not a perfect father. Such a thing does not exist.
But a father who would always be there. A father who would teach his children honesty. The value of keeping one's word. Respect for others. And the courage never to be afraid of work. I knew I would make mistakes. All parents do. But I made myself a promise. Marco would always know he was loved. He would always know that, whatever happened, he could count on his father.
Our apartment on Hasselt's inner ring road was not large. Our financial situation was not easy. We did not yet own a home. There was no certainty about what the future would bring. But when we brought Marco home, I felt richer than I ever had before. Not because of what we possessed.
But because of who was with us. We had become a family. When I think back on that period today, after so many years, I perhaps understand even better what happiness truly means. Happiness is not always the absence of worries. Sometimes it comes precisely after a long period of fear. And perhaps that is why it is felt with even greater intensity. On October 10, 1972, Dorina and I did not have a large house. No financial security.
No idea what the rest of our lives would be like. But we had Marco. And that day, it was all that mattered. In the years that followed, he would become a man with his own character, dreams, and special talents. Life would lead us together along roads we could not possibly foresee that day.
But that story belonged to later. I want to preserve October 10, 1972, as that day truly was. Not with what I know today. But with what I felt then. Pure joy. A happiness so great I could not express it in words. Only in tears. When I think back on everything I was given the chance to experience, the first time I saw Marco remains one of the most moving moments of my life.
To me, he was a miracle. The most beautiful baby I had ever seen. And as I stood there, crying with happiness, I knew my life had changed forever. On October 10, 1972, Marco was born. And on that same day, I was born too. As a father.
