Next month I will be exactly how old Ritu was when she died. Either 5 or 6 days before September 14, depending on whether her birthday was February 22 or 23. I can look it up. Her life stopped short, I continued on my path, and next month I will cross a threshold and reach an age she never did. That gap between our ages closed.

I don't know why this comes to mind, it's not like we were close; we hadn't known each other for even a year. She was my boss, but we had a strange sympathetic resonance. She was so much what I wanted to be, down to what I believe was her suicide. I have no idea if I was anything she would have wanted to have been, including still alive. I guess that's the thing with most suicides, you never know.

It's strange, though, the way her memory would occasionally haunt me like a ghost. Or is she a guide? We weren't that close, I was never "worthy" to be her friend. Not that being her friend was something to strive for. Being her friend was a dubious honor, as our mutual friend Anita would probably attest. She was an incredible person, but also tortured and seriously flawed. She had no qualms about letting her friends know how tortured and seriously flawed she was.

I, on the other hand, have a serious problem with letting people know how tortured and seriously flawed I was. Partly because I'm not sure I am. OK I am, but in some ways not.