It’s no secret that I love movies. I’ve mentioned it in many of my columns. The Local Controller routinely asks me why I rewatch movies and why in the world I would jump in halfway through a movie. My responses:
1. It’s a great movie!
2. It’s a great scene and a great movie!
To say those responses are less than well received would be like saying syrup isn’t sticky. A nonstarter, so to speak. One of my current go-to movies is Top Gun: Maverick. There’s a quote I find particularly compelling for reasons I hope will make sense as you continue to read. While addressing other pilots about an upcoming mission Maverick says: “This makes time your greatest adversary.” For context, Maverick premiered in 2022. Had you asked me I would have said last year or maybe 18 months ago, certainly not three years ago. Speaking of time, on April 3 of this year, I turned 65 years of age. 6.5 decades. Thirty six of those years have been spent in the employ of the League. Seven of those years I’ve had the privilege of serving as your executive director. While I don’t think of time as my adversary, per se, the hard truth is I’ve got more of it behind me than I do in front of me.
In what seems the blink of an eye I graduated from Jonesboro High School, Arkansas State University and the Bowen Law School and began a long career in municipal law. I’m the proud father of four and the very fortunate husband to Alison. As they say, I out-punted my coverage. I’m blessed, no doubt about it. Time also reminds us of events long gone and others that may have recently occurred. These can be life-changing moments, both wonderful and tragic, or a simple recollection.
Here’s a story from my life that is real and raw, and hopefully beneficial in some meaningful way. How many of you remember what happened exactly five years ago? My family remembers April 18, 2020, down to the very last detail. Every minute, every hour replays like Groundhog Day. Over and over, it never leaves, proving that time isn’t always your friend. While the events I’m about to recount took place five years ago they are very real and ever present. They are indelibly etched in time.
On April 18, 2020, my family suffered a trauma that shouldn’t have happened. A young man, age 23, died from an opioid overdose. Fentanyl, to be specific. That young man, Wells Curry Bratton, was my son. Technically of course, he was my stepson, like Bliss is my stepdaughter, but make no bones about it: I love Wells with the same passion and fury as my two biological sons, Franz and Colin. I continue to grieve his loss. Just writing about him in the past tense is painful. Wells is my son. That’s how I think of it. The three remaining siblings think of him as their brother. Alison does the same as his mother. And Dwight, Wells’ dad, does the same. In a nutshell I’m referring to family. Our family, unconventional though it is, lost a son and brother. We’ve been robbed of our time with him. His death was out of order. After all, parents die first, right? That’s the way it should be. Fate had other plans.
After Wells died, I did what husbands and fathers have done since time immemorial. I protected my family. I made sure they didn’t have to worry about the details of a funeral, that they got the physical and mental health care they needed and that I was available to them 24/7/365. When there were tears, I was there with a tissue and a shoulder for support. When a death certificate had to be had, I took care of it. I made sure everyone had a safe haven. A safe haven of place, situation and activity. While impossible, I tried to be omnipresent. I was zealous in removing negative matters in their lives and equally zealous in providing the positive.
As I tried to be the best husband and father to those of my clan, I did what men have also done since time immemorial. I ignored my own needs. All my needs including mental and physical health. Please know I’m not bragging. In retrospect it was stupid, but hindsight is always 20/20. Regardless of my own idiocy time passed from that wretched day and I squelched my needs because my family needed me. Incidentally, I had a big job that needed my attention, and a pandemic occurred somewhere in the mix. Bottom line: I never dealt with my pain.
Let me pause here briefly. I do not write the following to be graphic but rather to educate those unfamiliar with what happened and hopefully to provide context for a broader message. Of note, I also write as part of my healing. Wells had suffered for over two years with an active addiction to opioids. Like many of his generation the opioid epidemic infected him with a ferocity that ultimately became too hard to fight off. He overdosed so many times that we, as his collective family, can’t come up with an actual number. He survived several of those overdoses by mere seconds. He spent days on a ventilator at a local hospital after one such event. He stole from us. He lied to us. He went to rehab twice. He was thrown out of the second rehab for failing to be honest about his use of over-the-counter mind-altering substances. He spent nearly a week in a homeless shelter in downtown Birmingham, Alabama. He came home from the shelter and within a short period of time began using again. There’s no way to say this except to be blunt. Those two years nearly destroyed our family. More than 24 months of pure hell. Time we cannot get back and a time when Wells destroyed himself because Big Pharma cared more about money than human lives. That is the hard truth and it’s one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written.
On the evening of April 17, he stole money from Alison’s purse, left the house briefly and came back high. I confronted Alison and demanded he leave the house and not come back unless he was sober. A mother’s love knows no boundaries and we argued as we never had before or since. Late that evening we finally agreed that we would drug test him the following morning. I texted him to be in the kitchen at 9 a.m. He responded that he would. He didn’t. Alison left about 8:45 a.m. to buy a drug test. Oddly, we had many in stock over those two years but for some reason didn’t on that day. When she got home, we walked downstairs and found his bedroom door open. Across the hall, the bathroom door was closed, locked and the fan was running. I kicked in the door. He was laying on his back in his boxers, his face covered in vomit and his blood in a small pool at the back of his head. He clearly overdosed, passed out, fell to the floor, vomited and stopped breathing. I cleared the vomit from his mouth and throat and began CPR. Alison called 911 and I continued to push on his chest while the dispatcher counted one, two, three, four over and over and over again. The first responders arrived but it was all too late. Wells died a mere 25 or 30 feet from us. A staircase and few feet of hallway is all that separated the living from the dead. What followed was hours of confusion punctuated by the animalistic screams of pain from a mother realizing her child was dead. Those visions and sounds remain with me in as vivid a format as the day they happened.
This is about the point in my column where I’m encouraged to “get to the point.” Here’s the point: Time is a precious commodity. The Hayes-Bratton family would give anything for one more day with Wells. One more day to try once again to get him clean. We would love hearing his voice, his laughter and to get one of his massive bear hugs. Just a little more time. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen and contrary to popular belief, time does not heal all wounds. We are still a wounded family, but we do have coping skills. The passage of time from the death of a child allows for coping skills provided those suffering take the time, pardon the play on words, to seek those skills. As I noted earlier, I did not take that time, and the results have not been pretty.
Approximately, 18 months ago I began to have flashbacks, seeing the entire episode from beginning to end in a repetitive loop. I sought counseling, albeit only three sessions, but the flashbacks stopped and I proceeded with life, both personal and professional. What I did not do was learn the most basic of life’s lessons: if you don’t take care of yourself, you cannot take care of anyone or anything else. Proceeding full steam ahead with no real change in my life, it was only a matter of time before something went wrong. Whether it was the impending five-year anniversary of his death, the constant realization that he’s gone, the office workload or worrying about the League’s investments as well as my own, something triggered, and I broke. It started on my birthday. I had a picture or two of the events pop into my mind periodically for the next several days. No rhyme or reason, they just came and went as did my ability to concentrate. I didn’t sleep well for several nights. As it happened, Alison and I were out of town at the Southern Municipal Conference. Our flights on the way to the conference were badly weather delayed and, given the weather in Arkansas on April 4-5, we decided to drive home rather than fly. On Saturday we did so and when we crossed the bridge and rolled into Lake Village the bottom fell out. We got home safely but it was very stressful. I slept a bit that night but by Sunday night, the flashbacks returned with a vengeance. I didn’t sleep much for two nights and by Wednesday I was essentially nonfunctional. That’s hard to admit, but it’s true.
Time marches on whether we are on board or not. I’m now in the process of making some changes. As a result, I already feel better. I’m not where I need to be quite yet so I’m staying on course with counseling, self-reflective reading, exercising, relying on my faith, asking for help when I need it (that’s really difficult for me!) and generally taking a hard look at the life of 65-year-old Mark Hayes. I will not only survive this but I’ll be stronger. What’s the old saying? What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. Harsh, but there’s truth in the statement.
Now, you may be asking what any of this has to do with you and your city. Excellent inquiry! Your city or town relies on you for some of the very basic things in life. Will a qualified police officer or firefighter appear when they are needed? Is the garbage getting picked up or are your curbs overrun with rodents? Is driving to work or the grocery store a game of dodge the pothole? Can kids go to a park that’s safe and well maintained? Is the budget sufficient to repair a water main or pump? Are there so many blighted properties in town that nobody wants to reinvest? These questions know no end. Please do as I say and not as I did: You must take care of yourselves to ensure you are taking care of your residents. Remember, time is a limited thing.
Here’s some good news for you and your community. There are very real tools to deal with the mental health and opioid issues. The League has created a new program designed to provide essential support for first responders. The Trauma Assistance Program (TAP) is a confidential and free program to help first responders deal with traumatic events. It provides in-person and telehealth counseling that is specifically tailored for those on the front lines. First responders see and deal with terrible circumstances daily. TAP ensures there is help when it’s most needed. Additionally, the League’s work with the Association of Arkansas Counties to create the Arkansas Opioid Recovery Partnership (ARORP) has been nothing short of terrific. ARORP’s message is powerful and clear: Be bold, stand together and commit to abating opioid misuse and addiction in Arkansas. ARORP is near and dear to me and my family. Specific community needs are being addressed daily in every county of the state thanks to ARORP. Please go to this website today: www.arorp.org.
LC says it’s time to wrap this up. I’ll leave you with this. Please don’t go it alone when the hard times hit. Time is not your friend if you don’t seek help. If you or others in your world are struggling with trauma or addiction issues, there’s good news and help to be had. Just reach out to someone who can help. Feel free to reach out to me if that’s easier. My cell is 501-607-3910. Wells’ story is giving us a new chapter in his life. Please don’t let it go to waste. I know I won’t.
Until next time, peace.1An entire column and only one footnote! LC is cheering loudly enough to heard from Lake Village to Bella Vista and from Texarkana to Piggot and all parts in between. Not only for the lack of footnotes but because her baby boy continues to make a difference in our state.
- 1An entire column and only one footnote! LC is cheering loudly enough to heard from Lake Village to Bella Vista and from Texarkana to Piggot and all parts in between. Not only for the lack of footnotes but because her baby boy continues to make a difference in our state.
