{{{Happy Birthday, Ritu}}}, I wish. Kinda. I guess.

This might be a bit depressing, but more weird shit surrounding Ritu, which might be totally unrelated, and this might be showing my superstitious stripes that I didn't think I had.

A co-worker, who was also a member of Ritu's team, had some seriously shocking bad shit happen to her this past week. Now, she was a great worker, don't get me wrong, and Ritu had nothing bad to say about her in earnest, but from what I know about their two personalities, they could not have been more diametrically opposed.

When I say that maybe Ritu hasn't totally moved on, I don't mean she's a conscious, wandering ghost, haunting people she didn't like.

I think when you die, you are stripped of the materialistic forms and trappings that identified you while you were here. So whatever part of Ritu still remains because of an inability to move on, ghosthood, it's unfocused, blind, and not a conscious entity. Whatever remains, remains like magnetic attraction around what was familiar on this planet, the people she knew, the places she's been, all of them.

It's not like Ritu was out for revenge or anything, but it's the way the energy interacted that totally fucked with this co-worker's life. And it hit her in the worst way possible, not her, but the people around her. Hearts out to her.

Talking to Zenaida today, she mentioned something I wrote a month after Ritu died, and it occurred to me to post it here to put the sentiment onto the vast circulation of the internet. I wrote it because I got a horoscope the day after she died, telling me not to be jealous (which I was) of other people's accomplishments and write thank you notes instead. So, ladies and gentleman, positive vibes out to Ritu so she can get the hell out of here and on with her journey, here goes again, double Dewars on the rocks:

October 14, 2000
Dear Ritu,
This is a thank you note, the intentions of which I hope will reach you in some form wherever you are.

I want to thank you for being who you were, as you were, and for entering my life. That is all. That is all that is needed for me to thank you and to be thankful to you.

I didn't know you that long or that well or that deeply, nevertheless your presence through your absence is deeply felt. And that, perhaps, is the value of having been alive, having lived.

Having touched my life by having been in it, I miss you. I miss your presence, I miss knowing that you are somewhere out there in a form I would recognise, a form in which I could say, "Ritu?" and you could say, "what?"

I will remember your face, your love of orchids, your love of orange, of Eddie Vedder's voice, your passion for the music that touched you, your tactile appreciation; you loved life more than I ever will and you touched it more deeply than I ever will.

I will also remember your pain and your struggle for compassion. I had very little good to say about you in the last month, but now that you're gone, it has all been placed into perspective.

We all have our pain, we all have our struggle, and we all deal with and express them in our own individual ways that may be perceived differently by other people. I didn't understand your struggle, but now I recognise it for what it was, and that it was just yours, not for me to understand or solve or resolve or cure.

So thank you and godspeed. Go on your journey and always come as you are. In whatever time or place I meet you again, if I recognise you on some level, know that I will welcome you.

On behalf of Josefa, Barb, Cass, Wayne, Angela, Lorena, Zenaida, Jeptha, and anyone else who shares the sentiment but I don't know about, thank you. Take this burned candle, this incense, and this song for you and go. If we are to meet again, insha'allah, in this I believe.