by TAJ
Her profile mentioned poetry as an interest. As a writer and publisher of verse, I asked if she was interested in reading, writing, or exchanging poems. Typical of Bets, she simply answered "yes." Her online style tended to be telegraphic. Rarely would she waste a word. Or even a letter: she called me just "T"... plain and simple.
At the outset, we only traded poetry. Then there were email messages, and later prose. Most of my writing was about struggles with midlife. Hers, however, was much about dying and loss... such odd themes, I thought, for a woman in her early thirties who in online conversation seemed to exude such strength, such vitality.
That was before I really knew her and the very real encounters with illness, death, and separation that had punctuated most of her life.
In the weeks that passed, we chatted often in that surreal world of online connectivity, faceless yet somehow drawn close in spirit. She shared with me her frustrations, hopes, fantasies and pain. I began to feel a very real attachment to this remarkable woman. Her life was so full of people with passionate character. She would hold me spellbound with anecdotes of her childhood, her family, her friends, and her dreams. She could still laugh in spite of the tragedy that surrounded her, but a great deal of torment had settled in her heart. The hurt was evident in her melancholy moods and in her frequent nightmares. She hardly ever seemed to sleep.
I wanted so much to comfort her in some way. During a business trip to Dallas, I took the opportunity to talk with her on the phone. It was our first meeting offline, and the conversation stretched well into the night. Many other such calls would follow.
Behind her outward show of strength, I could feel the edge of suffering in her voice. I would worry over her shortness of breath, her coughs and long pauses. The silences were often heavy. Growing in me was a tremendous desire to hold her, to rock her in my arms and stroke her hair. How could I help her from so far away? And how could I help myself, through this mixture of compassion and caring she had aroused in me?
Help write my story.. she asked. Help empty me of the ghosts. Help put my soul at peace.. my mind at ease.
A wave of emotions swept me away, as this opening appeared.
Yes, Bets. Yes, I told her. I will do that. I will do that for you.
And so the drama began for us... the process of sorting through her life and reordering my own to make time and space for the work at hand. It would be deeply painful at times. It would be thrilling at others. There would be great risks, of heart and health for her, of family and career for me. We would laugh and cry together. We would hate one another at times... adore each other at others. We would curse the distance that separated us, yet marvel at our ability to connect and work together so closely in spite of it. Obsessed by our creation and the desire to tell this tale, we would endure. And at long last, we would rest, exhausted but content.
The story is not finished yet, but I feel it is far enough along to begin sharing it with you. Much of it is about a man we've called Jay Jay. But it is Bets' story. And I can only thank God for allowing me to be part of it and for the opportunity to bring it, as Bets wanted, to you.
Elizabeth "Bets" Cole and I first met online. I was living in Tokyo at the time; she was in the Midwestern United States. But some things are meant to be, and I have come to understand that not an ocean, nor a continent, nor a world of differences can keep two soul-linked persons from meeting.
................... For a synopsis, click here: