I knew the moment I saw him. Lust at first sight. Limerence. Fireworks.

Well, to be completely honest, it was a fire alarm. A false alarm. But it led to true love.

Twenty-one years ago I was standing outside a university lecture theatre in Brisbane. Dozens of first year film and TV students were filing into a concrete building alongside me, a mature age journalism student. I usually sat up the front and asked too many questions, but I decided to follow the cute boy to a row further back that day. I sat one chair away from him so as to not appear too keen. I think he noticed.

The lecture began, books opened, pens poised (it was a time before iPhones) and suddenly the fire alarm sounded. Evacuation happened at trickle pace. No smoke or fire seemed evident but we still had to follow safety protocols. And so my lecture crush and I stood awkwardly outside. His name was Jeremy.

I don’t know exactly what we talked about, but we soon discovered that both of our extended families were from Tully in North Queensland. That started our friendship. Over the next few months we discovered that our grandparents grew up minutes from each other on sugar cane farms 60 years ago. My grandmother told me that Jeremy came from a “very good looking” family. Yes Nan, I’d noticed.

He was young at 17 and I felt old at 24. We became fast friends. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did. I went to his 18th birthday, I met his family, I fell in love. And then I decided it should be over before it really started. I was scared that my heart was going to get broken.

I remember saying that he should do what other 18 year olds were doing. Go out, explore, do dumb things, kiss a hundred girls. But he’d already been a world traveller. His childhood spread from the UK to Asia and back to Australia. And he only wanted to kiss one girl. Me.

So when I said I wanted to walk away, he said stay. Twenty years ago on the 10th of July 2003, we became boyfriend and girlfriend and it’s a date we’ve celebrated ever since. He’s now my husband and the father of my sons. He’s still my best friend. He puts up with me, he forgives me, he makes me a laugh and I don’t know what would’ve happened if that fire alarm hadn’t gone off.

To celebrate our double decade we lit a warm fire at a cottage in Stanthorpe. A little fireplace, plenty of wine with lots of adventures to reflect on and big dreams to chase.

I like that we mark dates as humans. Love, loss, failure, success and all those moments in between. Even the sad ones. Death-iversery. The ridiculous ones. Pash-iversery. The scary ones. Crash-iversary.

I like that my friends share their memories when they’re grieving a loved one. We can help carry the sorrow. It also means we keep people alive in our hearts and minds. I want to know what you miss and what you remember. How many days it’s been since your last hug or your first.

My friend Rachel kissed her husband Nick for the first time on Christmas Eve. They still celebrate the pash. My mate Dinesh remembers the night of his car crash that paralysed him but never stopped him becoming a doctor. My husband’s grandfather celebrates two birthdays because he once “died” on the golf course. His heart stopped and fortunately a club-swinging doctor was on the green that day. Good timing.

Time feels faster, the older you get. I guess it’s because the days as a fraction of your whole life get shorter. This week marks 500 days since Russia invaded Ukraine. Hard to imagine how long those days have felt for Ukrainian families. How many days until peace?

I heard the heartbeat of an unborn baby today. 9 months to go for the soon-to-be parents. Meanwhile my friend Dagwood is counting down the days until he sees his twin brother again in heaven. There’s so much love in grief and in new life. And somewhere in between is time. Counting down, counting since. Making it count. With the ones you love. In the time you have.