Libby Cataldi - Stay Close: A Mothers Story of Her Sons Addiction

Stay Close

Libby and Jeff, 1978
P HOTO TAKEN BY L IBBYS FATHER , T ED C ATALDI S R .

A Mothers Story of Her Sons Addiction

Libby Cataldi

St. Martins Press
New York

This is a true story, though some names and details have been changed.

STAY CLOSE . Copyright 2009 by Libby Cataldi. Afterword 2009 by Patrick MacAfee. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Excerpt from the song Gold Day by Mark Linkous 2001 WB Music Corp. and Spirit Ditch Music. All rights administered by WB Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission from Alfred Publishing Co., Inc.

www.stmartins.com

Book design by Kathryn Parise

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Cataldi, Libby.

Stay close : a mothers story of her sons addiction / Libby

Cataldi.1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-53878-1

ISBN-10: 0-312-53878-2

Includes bibliographical references.

1. Cataldi, Libby. 2. Parents of drug addictsUnited
StatesBiography. 3. Drug addictsFamily relationships
United States. I. Title.

HV5805.C37 A3 2009
362.29'13092dc22

2008044065

First Edition: May 2009

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my firstborn son, Jeff Bratton, who spent over two years, and hundreds of hours, answering my questions, recalling details, and putting into words those of his memories found in this book. Jeff knew that if at any time he wanted the book to stop, I would have stopped it, but he never asked. Ive learned from him that life is more fragile than I ever realized, and that the choice of living a sober life takes great courage.

To my younger son, Jeremy Bratton, who chose to break his silence. It hurts to remember or maybe its easier to try to forget, but Jeremy decided to trust, and to help with the writing.

Weve learned to stay close, for it is in the staying close that hope lives.

Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to the men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all.

Ecclesiastes 9:11,
Ignatius Revised Standard Version Bible

Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Step Twelve, Alcoholics Anonymous

Stay Close

September 27, 2005

M y son is in jail, Miami-Dade County jail. He faces a felony charge for heroin possession and a misdemeanor charge for possession of drug paraphernalia.

This isnt the first time he is in jail; maybe it wont be the last. Addiction invaded our home in 1991. It slithered in and sat down at our dining room table, grew large and fat, fed on our misery, laughing, mocking us with its power. It claimed Jeff when he was just a fourteen-year-old boy. I did everything I could think of to save my son, but in the end I could do nothing, not really, to extricate him or to free our family from addictions claws. If you love or care about an addict, you know this feeling of helplessness.

My firstborn son, twenty-seven years old, is handsome, elegant even, with large brown eyes and olive skin, a little over six feet tall, and so very smart. A graduate of Boston University with a bachelors degree in communications, he has worked in Boston, New York City, and Washington, D.C., for some of the most well-known public relations agencies. He could be anything he wanted to be. He is a drug addict.

Im in Italy and Jeff couldnt make an international call from jail, so he called his father, my former husband, who called me. He wants me to post bond. Tim sounded incredulous. Im done; I told him that he got himself into this mess, he can get himself out. I told him no. In fact, I told him hell, no.

Tim did give me the number of the bail bondsman, and I began telephoning to the United States and finally reached the man; he seemed knowledgeable. Jeffs bail had been set at six thousand dollars, high because heroin possession is a third-degree felony charge in Miami-Dade County. Six hundred dollars was needed immediately, 10 percent of the total. Plus, he wanted at least four thousand dollars in cash, since Jeff is not a resident of Florida. Your son might disappear on us, he explained. Do you have any property in Florida? Anyone who will take responsibility for your son?

Anyone to take responsibility? Maybe we took too much responsibility all along. Or maybe we didnt take enough.

It was just last week that I started writing this story. I had returned to Italy after a six-week visit to the States, during which I had spent a lot of time with Jeff, a lot of time laughing and remembering with this child of mine. Jeff had been sober for four months, and he looked good. Eyes shining with charm and confidence, my charismatic son almost skipped as he walked. When I saw him like this, I could have wept. He looked at me, concerned, and said with a little nervous laugh, Dont cry, Momma, Im good today. Im healthy. Were OK.

Im his mother. Not that this explains anything, really, although it may explain everything about me. I have two children, and my feelings for my sons are inseparable from my being. They are like breath to life, like light to creation, and they are unable to be anything other. Its my way. Hope for and belief in Jeff resurface even after I swear I will not believe again. It must be like this when they tell a mother her child is dying. Does she accept the sentence or does she hold tight to hope, believing that somehow God, a higher power, some medicine or some surgeon will save her child?

I had tried to quit believing and hoping, but when I saw him this last time, those feelings came rushing back into my bones; I was like a dry sponge soaking up water.

While I was in the States, I asked Jeff how he felt about me telling his story through my eyes. His answer was clear: Yes, Momma, write the book. Maybe it will help others; maybe it will help even one family.

I asked the same question of Jeremy, my second son, for Jeffs story is also his, a story of brotherly love tangled up with protection, with guilt, with the need to survive. Jer sighed, paused, then nodded his head slowly. Yeah, Momma, write. Itll hurt like hell, but maybe it will help others; maybe it will help us.