Taking time for granted? Remember this.

It’s New Year's Eve, 1989.

I’m a few months into life as a five-year-old. It looks like this is going to be the first New Year that I'll get to (or was able to) stay up to celebrate.

[I wanted to write "watch the ball drop," but according to my memory, we weren't even doing that yet ... That's how old I am, lol.]

I’m in the living room with my parents and we're listening to the countdown on the radio.

Some things I remember:

• There was allure around this idea of the "New Year" - What did it mean? What happens? Remember, I was five and would have just experienced what was still the magic and mystery of Santa (I had probably just started to realize that there was any kind of magic and mystery beyond my sensorial engagement with the everyday world around me). I had an intense curiosity to finally get to see what happens on New Year’s.

• My parents were SO EXCITED. Again, this was many years ago, so who knows how this memory has aged in my mind. But I remember being just as curious about their excitement. Something amazing must happen when we not only go into a New Year but a new decade.

We counted down.

10, 9, 8 …

This was great; I could participate! I knew numbers and how to count to 10. Counting down was even more fun!

7, 6, 5 …

Oh boy, I wonder what's going to happen.

4, 3, 2 …

Here's the big moment:

... 1!

Happy New Year!

Music and hoorays erupted from the radio speaker. Mom and Dad kissed in jubilation, then hugged me and said, "Happy New Year, Nyssa! It's 1990."

Suddenly, it hit me.

1990.

I knew the previous years were 1989, 1988, 1987 ... all the way down to 1984, the year I was born. I knew those years because they were the numbers on the photo albums where I could see pictures of moments from those times.

But I also just learned that numbers CAN go both up and down. We had just counted down. I thought maybe we could do that with years, too …

So I asked, "Will it ever be 1989 again?"

I can only imagine the look on my parents face when I asked. They had to pause their celebration to teach their kid a very important lesson about time.

No matter how we try to stop it, time passes.

As soon as I was assured that, “No, 1989 will never happen again,” I cried and cried.

You see, not only was I a sensitive, sentimental kid, but I had also just learned another important lesson:

Not only does time pass, but people do, too.

If my memories are correct, this was the New Year that followed the unexpected passing of my maternal grandmother, Mom Baucom. She passed of a heart attack on Christmas Eve, 1989. We were perhaps the last ones to talk to her that night, with plans to drive up from FL to NC on Christmas Day.

Saying goodbye to 1989 and the 1980s meant saying goodbye to Mom Baucom forever.

Now, after realizing that we just passed the 30-year anniversary of the Christmas Eve that my grandmother passed away—as well as the New Year’s Eve when I learned how time works—I couldn’t help but offer this reflection on what it means to be going into a whole new decade.

We are only here for a short time. If we’re lucky, we still have plenty of it. But we never know.

I know this probably isn’t the “it’s-not-only-a-new-year-but-a-new-decade” post you might be expecting, but I think there isn’t any other time than right now. Whenever you’re reading this, remember that we’ve got to cherish those we love while they’re here, what we love to do while we still can, and what we love about ourselves while we’re still that person.

Remember that no matter who you are or where you’re at, you can always start at the beginning. With anything. Even if it isn’t the New Year.

What is something that you love and cherish in your life right now? Let me know in the comments.