With Broken Wings: A True Story of Healing and Reclaiming a Voice Lost

By Jerie Catillo and Susan L. McElaney

WITH BROKEN WINGS is a riveting and engrossing memoir about one womans courage and perseverance in battling through, first, childhood sexual abuse and, later on, horrific physical and sexual abuse as an adult. It is a true story told in raw and honest details; a story of heart-wrenching losses, discovery, unwavering resilience and faith.

Jerie Catillos story is a beautiful gift because of her rare ability and willingness to bare her soul to the universe; and because of her passion to reveal the healing she received after she poured out her broken self to others. WITH BROKEN WINGS speaks of Jerie Catillos fight to move forward in her lifedespite all she had to leave behind. It speaks of her transformation from a broken and torn woman to a woman who has been set free and who has jubilantly reclaimed her magnificent self and voice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481760973

Jerie Catillo

JERIE CATILLO was born in New Brunswick, Canada, moved to U.S.A. at age 15 and became a U.S citizen at age 21. Speaking mostly French, the language barrier made her high-school years in the U.S. difficult, but—with much hard work—she eventually received her high-school GED. Over the years, she went on to college and, in 1984, received an Associate’s Degree and then, in 1991, graduated from University of Connecticut with a Bachelor’s Degree. Jerie knew she had a story that needed to be told. She started writing her memoir, WITH BROKEN WINGS, in 1974; and, after being side-lined over the years by many of life’s interruptions, she completed it—39 years later—in June of 2013. She is the mother of 2 adult children and 1 adult granddaughter. Jerie and her husband Joe have been married for 33 years and live in Uncasville, Connecticut. SUSAN L. McELANEY retired in 2005, after having worked as a Registered Nurse for 36 years in fields including Oncology/Terminal Care Nursing and also Mental Health at a women’s prison. After retirement, she began a new career as a freelance writer and editor. Besides co-authoring and editing WITH BROKEN WINGS, she co-authored her first non-fiction, STOLEN HALO in 2012. Susan is married, the proud mother of 3 adult children and the proud grandmother of 5. She and her husband Jim live in Norwichtown, Connecticut.

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© 2013 by Jerie Catillo With Susan L. McElaney. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Teresa A. Crean

Rainbow photograph by Melissa Devine

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6096-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6098-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-6097-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918032

Although this is a work of nonfiction, some of the names and locations have been changed.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

A Note From Jerie

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

I dedicate this book to my mother in loving recognition of her strong constitution, her courage, her tenacity, her beauty and her everlasting love for people. My Mom was golden; and she was at least twenty years ahead of her time. She has inspired me in all aspects of my life.

I also dedicate this book to my husband, Joseph, who encouraged me to pursue my education; and then stood by me when I became ill and was forced to take a sabbatical from my schooling. When my workload became very heavy, when I began doubting myself, his faith in me helped me to find the courage to continue and eventually earn two degrees. He was—and continues to be—a huge incentive and motivating factor in my life. I will forever be grateful to him. Thank you, Joe.

Love you,

Jerie

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to acknowledge first, my parents; and then, according to their ages, my siblings:

My father, Joseph George LeBlanc, born May 3, 1887 and died February 18, 1976. He taught himself how to play the harmonica, owned a Ford Model A and was an avid reader.

My mother, Marie Leonie Landry LeBlanc, born November 6, 1894 and died December 3, 1975. She had lots of talents and worked hard all of her life. She witnessed the birth of the black and white television and in her later years, joined the Weight Watcher Program and was quite successful. Together with my father, they had thirteen children.

Brother, Joseph Henri Edouard LeBlanc, born June 11, 1913 and died March 12, 1999. He and his wife, Olive, had nine children together. He was very much a family man who was always happy. He loved to tell stories and he also loved to sing. When I was just a little girl, he often sang a certain French song to me: Jonas dans la baleinge, dissait je voudrais bien mon aller, trois joirs trois semaines, dans font de la baleinge—The Jonah and the Whale Story. He was a funny guy. He attended the local university, but did not stay and later, in order to support his family, went on to become an electrician by trade. Unfortunately, the love of his life died before him. They had been so much in love, and, no matter where he went, she followed him—even into the woods when he went hunting. Their family is very nice and close. This is all I remember about my oldest brother because I was so much younger than he and, by the time I was born, I believe he had already left home and gone elsewhere to look for work.

Sister, Marie Doris LeBlanc Lassonde Dauphinais, born April 1, 1916 and died March 4, 2006 at the age of eighty-nine, plus. She and her first husband, Bob, had two lovely children together: one girl, the oldest, Ellen who had special needs; and the youngest, a son, Paul. Unfortunately, Bob died at the age of thirty-three as the result of a work-related accident. Later on, my sister married John and together they had two children; sadly, she carried one child to full term, but the baby died as it was stillborn. They were a nice family. I love my niece, Doreen and her brother, Paul. Before my sister passed, she had made me a Christmas tablecloth for my dining table. It was so precisely made and just so well done. Just before she had become ill, she had come over to my house and gave me a prayer which was in honor of the Blessed Mother. It is called The Memorare, and I have said this prayer every day since she gave it to me. I miss her very expressive laughter and the good person she was. She loved to sew so very much and she was good at it. She possessed many talents.

Sister, Marie Ethelle LeBlanc Belliveau, born December 28, 1918 and died September 27, 2009, at the age of ninety, plus. When I made my First Communion at age six, she let me wear her bridal veil. For their honeymoon, she and her husband, John had come to Canada and it worked out really well. John is a great guy and together, they had six wonderful children. What a wonderful family. They are all well-educated and I know they worked hard to accomplish this. My sister was a State employee for twenty years. When I was only sixteen years old, she became my confidant—at a time when I had no one else that I could confide in. She helped me out whenever she could. She was smart, funny and witty—a great sense of humor. When she passed, I inherited a most beautiful pair of blue crystal rosary beads that I will cherish forever. I visit her at the mausoleum often. And, I miss her.

Brother, Joseph Ola Leonard LeBlanc, born October 1, 1920 and died March 22, 1989. I always felt that he had been given a gift because everything he touched turned to gold. When I was just a youngster, on one Easter Sunday, he drove home from Nova Scotia. He had brought us a suitcase full of assorted candies and made our holiday special. He was such a good-hearted man. When he passed, I gave a eulogy in his honor. He and his wife, Lina had two great sons together. Lina was perfect for my brother. Unfortunately, my brother died when he suffered a myocardial infarction; and their youngest son passed at the age of forty-two, a victim of cancer. They were a very nice family, very genuine. My brother and his wife did a fine job raising their boys. My brother worked at the Canadian National Rail Roads and he was involved with the Union, where he served as president for a very long time. He traveled all over in order to fulfill his union duties. He and his wife bought a grocery store in the city where they lived and were very successful at that. My brother’s family still lives in Canada because my brother was fortunate enough to have had a very good job which allowed them to live well. I just can’t say enough about this family.

Sister, Marie Geraine Aurore LeBlanc Lassonde, born June 20, 1922 and died December 21, 2002. She and her husband had one son, Kevin, who died in 2012. Albert, her husband, passed at a young age from cancer. My sister loved to sing, dance cook and was a talented seamstress—she could make anything. She made herself the most beautiful clothes and once, she made me a silk dress-up jacket that looked as though I had bought it at a fancy shoppe and spent lots of money on it. My sister loved going out with her friends. She was indeed a pretty lady.

Sister, Marie Stella Emma LeBlanc Brine, born October 15, 1923 and died February 26, 2011. She was my godmother and my friend. She and her husband, Alfred, had five children together, including a set of fraternal twins. She was the only one of my siblings who was born in the United States because, at the time of her birth, my parents had been residing, for a short period of time, in Massachusetts. Their family is so very nice and my sister was always there for them. She always tried to help other people and she prayed for everyone. Whenever anyone called her, she was always ready to listen and help. She never refused. She was very good to me and she rescued my sister and I. She went through open heart surgery and, while recuperating, became sick from something else and had a difficult time afterwards. She was a great lady and I miss her so very much. When she passed, I had the honor to eulogize her.

Brother, Joseph Leonard Yvon LeBlanc, born July 31, 1925 and died June 10, 1976. He was my godfather and I adored him. See, I was still very young when he worked the farm, but I do remember him quite well. He was very handsome with waves in his hair. He and his wife, Lorrie (from whom he later was divorced) had three children together. He loved his family so much. While he was working the farm, I once fell and hurt my leg pretty badly. From pieces of scrap wood that he had found on the farm, he made me a pair of crutches—that was perfect for my height and worked really well for me. He was very talented. After he quit working on the farm, he became an electrician by trade so that he could support his family. He had a good heart.

Sister, Marie Thérèse Loretta LeBlanc Dunn, born April 21, 1927. At eighty-six years old, she is still going strong. She attended The Academy of Sacred Heart in Saint Joseph, Canada and graduated with a diploma in Home Economics. Another one of our siblings did a wonderful deed by paying the tuition so that my sister could attend this special school; and I know that my sister later repaid her. She is extremely talented and can sew, cook, knit, crochet and do just about everything that you can think of. At the age of seventy-seven, she decided to enroll in painting classes and succeeded; her work has been shown here in Connecticut, in local art exhibits located in Norwich and in Mystic. She does good work and, no matter what she attempts, it always turns out well. She and her husband, Joseph, had four children together; they were a nice family. She was married to Joseph for fifty-nine years—and that is a long time. She recently lost Joseph to asbestosis. Her children are caring and they watch out for her. They are a very close-knit family. There is nothing better than that.

Brother, Joseph Gerard Alyre LeBlanc, born August 3, 1928. He is still going strong at the age of eighty-five. He always said that he would live to be one-hundred years old—and his wish may just come true. He and his wife, Loretta, had four children together. They both worked hard, and after they were married, he was able to go back to finish his schooling—and earned a Bachelor Degree in business. He is also very talented; in fact, he has written two books. One is written in French and one was written about ways to solve the national debt. The latter, unfortunately, was declined by a publisher and after that, my brother gave up—much too soon—and he never pursued getting it published. I told him recently that he must not give up that easily; that he needs to keep trying to get it published with other publishers. We’ll see what happens. He served with the US Marines and went to Spain and learned to speak Spanish fluently. He loved that; languages come to him easily. He is a good guy and has a good family; they are genuinely nice people.

Brother, Joseph Clarence Roger LeBlanc, born June 14, 1930 and died December 25, 1976. Roger was only forty-six years old when he died. He and his wife, Irene, had three children together and they were a nice family. I must say, their siblings are good business people and quite successful. My brother was so good-hearted to everyone—and would give anyone the shirt right off his back, if necessary. When we were kids and, at only a moment’s notice, he would give us many rides to and from the roller skating rink. We hung out together often. He had this aquamarine Ford—I don’t remember the year— that he loved very much and we certainly had good times in that car. He always kept an eye on my sister and me whenever we all went out together. He worked hard at a gas station that was owned by my brother-in-law and was very handy in fixing cars; he also worked in construction and was skilled in working with electricity. Every year, on every Sunday, when cider was in season, he brought the entire family to an apple cider mill in Mystic, Connecticut. Today, his son continues this tradition. My brother died much too soon. His wife, Irene, never remarried.

Brother, Joseph Camille Jean-Paul LeBlanc, born April 2, 1932. He is still going strong at eighty-one years old and, one year ago, at a party thrown by his family, celebrated his eightieth birthday in grand style. My brother is such a good guy. He and his wife Margaret had four children together. Unfortunately, Margaret died at a very early age, and although my brother has had some friends, he never chose to remarry. He served in the US Army, spending time on the front lines in Korea. One of his jobs was to go around in the rice paddy fields to pick up bones from dead soldiers; not a very pleasant job, I must say. He told me that, after that, he would never eat rice again—I can understand that. Jean retired from General Dynamics as a carpenter. My sister Annette, Jean and me—being the three youngest children in our family—grew up together and were very close. We tried to take care of one another as much as we could. Later on in our teen-aged years, Jean became our protector. We have lots of stories to tell… . and they are all true! After Jean had come home from the service, he was driving an old car that he had borrowed from our brother, Roger. It had a rumble seat and we had a great time with that old car. We always had so much fun together. Jean is a good guy and has a nice family.

Sister, Marie Annette Elise LeBlanc Armstrong, born June 25, 1933. She is still going strong at age eighty. She moved to the U.S. in 1949 to baby sit for our older sister Doris’ children, a job which afforded her room and board. She has always been very talented; she is able to knit, crochet and is also quite a seamstress. She worked at our local casino as a seamstress for a long time and, for many years, was the head sewer and upholsterer at a local furniture company. At times, this company sent her to another state for additional schooling in this field—all expenses paid. She has been quite successful at investing money; it always just seemed to work out well for her husband and her. She married Albert Armstrong and, together, they had three children who also were very talented; they were well-educated and did well. Unfortunately, they lost one son, Dennis, when he was only twenty-six years old. He lived in a group home and developed a bad case of tonsillitis. I miss Dennis—he was my buddy. At my first college graduation, he stayed by my side the entire time. Dennis was special.

My sister won her battle with breast cancer as it has been over five years since her diagnosis. That is quite a triumph. Good for her! We were two years apart, but I caught up with her physically and we looked like twins. I always looked up to her because she was my idol. My other siblings were there for me, but Annette was the one I looked up for the support and lessons in life. She worked all her life and achieved and excelled in everything she did—and even earned her GED. Good for her! She is very active and does not waste time. She loves doing everything that she does… . and she is good at everything that she does. I can’t think of anything that she can’t do. We were always close growing up and that closeness remains today.

Me! Marie Janita Geraldine LeBlanc Contino Britt Catillo, born August 12, 1935. I am still going strong at age seventy-eight and have written this book—something that I have been striving to do since 1975. Over the years, I saved all sorts of information that I saw in newspapers, books, magazines—anything that I thought might help me with the writing of my story. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I always had this desire to tell my story. Back in 1975, my first manuscript was accepted by Carlton Press, but I reneged on the deal. I had never done anything that bold before; I was a single mom and I was scared to go through with my plan. But, now IT IS MY TIME! And I will see what happens. It has not been easy to write—for the whole world to see—the true story of my own life. Reliving every painful event in this entire chapter of my life has been very difficult. I have had to face some pretty deep stuff. And, to make it even more difficult for me, I am not very proficient or savvy on the computer. Not too long ago, I read an article in our local newspaper about Mr. J.A Henry, a ninety-eight year old man who had been, until the age of ninety-one, illiterate. His friend encouraged him to learn to read and write—and, guess what!—at the age of ninety-eight, he wrote and self-published a book. His story of perseverance inspired me so much that I became even more determined to get my own story written and published. Via a phone call, I was able to connect with his grand-daughter once and I explained to her how his story had inspired me to move forward with my own book. We made plans to meet at his next book-signing, but that didn’t happen. Mr. Henry had become ill and had to cancel. Sadly, at the age of ninety-nine, he died in January of 2013. Although I never had the chance to meet him in person, I am so happy that, before he died, I had the chance to tell his grand-daughter what an inspiration he was to me. I had done nothing with my own book all those years after I reneged on the contract with Carlton Press, but because of Mr. Henry’s story of perseverance, I decided that if he could do it, so could I. And I resurrected my book from the closet, dusted it off and began again. Just like that. Someone once advised me to proceed with my dream; they said, Don’t let anyone talk you out of accomplishing this.

This ACKNOWLEDGEMENT pretty much sums up the highlights of my parents; and of my siblings, all of whom I love and respect: for the very strong religious beliefs they were raised with. They are all good people and they, too, faced a lot of different obstacles and challenges in their own lives. I have been told that I am more liberal than my siblings and I do agree with that… nothing wrong with that. I have benefited by my own aging process and used it as an incredible learning experience. Over my lifetime, I was challenged with many situations—and maybe I didn’t always make the right choice or choose the best path—but I never gave up, although I came very close to doing so several times. And, by the way, some of those bad choices that I made never fail to haunt me. They hang around, even today… and I am still paying the price.

It is very important that I tell you, the reader, that every detail I have written in this book is the truth as I remember it. Most names and locations of the characters in my book have been changed. I recognize that their memories of the events described in this book may be different than my own. I feel compelled to tell you, the reader, that there are many sensitive and graphic details throughout my story that I have reluctantly chosen to omit. Unfortunately, by doing so, you, the reader, will never fully know or truly understand some of the dire and dreadful circumstances that I had to endure during some periods of my life—the very circumstances that consumed me and ultimately transformed me into who I am today. However, I have chosen to follow the recommendations of my legal advisors and have omitted all those details which could potentially leave me vulnerable to legal repercussions from those of whom I have written.

This book is not intended to hurt anyone in any way. It is my sincere hope that this book will be viewed as important to the public interest and helpful to others who have struggled through similar challenges in life.

A NOTE FROM JERIE

I would like to acknowledge and thank Georgette of Tutto Hair Salon for her enthusiastic support and encouragement throughout this entire project.

"

I would also like to acknowledge Susan L. McElaney. The moment I met Susan, I knew we had a special connection. I knew at once that she was the perfect person to co-author my book. From the beginning of this process to the very end, I found her to be an inspiration to me. She is vibrant, kind, genuine and understanding. I call her my special angel. Thank you, Susan!

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

—Maya Angelou

CHAPTER ONE

I ONCE HEARD DAN RATHER SAY THAT EVERYONE has a story to tell and that sometimes it takes a lot of guts to tell it. I chose to tell my own story in hopes that my telling it would set me free.

Life for me has been an embodiment of endurance, persistence, courage, sorrow, hate, survival and a continuous struggle to maintain my own sanity. Life holds everyone’s future and destiny; its greatest secret is that no one really knows where it will take us. Only the good Lord has this special ability. Many times in my life I questioned the purpose of my being here on this earth. I had no goals, no plans… not even a wish list. Despite that void, I know the determination and the will to go on was embedded deep in my core.

I was born in Memramcook, New Brunswick, Canada on August 12, 1935. Memramcook is a small village fifteen miles from the nearest city. It is one of three Maritime Provinces located between Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia. I am the youngest of thirteen children, having been born of French ancestors. I have six sisters and six brothers. We were all raised on a farm which at one time consisted of approximately one-hundred sixty acres, half of the farm being on one side of the road and the rest of it on the other side of the road. We had cows, pigs, chickens, horses, roosters, mink and fox ranches. Some of the pelts were sold to the furriers who came from the big cities. We had fruit trees and harvested pears, peaches, apples and cranberries. My father’s dream was to eventually go into the tree business, but I don’t believe that it was very successful at all having lasted for all of one season. We milked our own cows by hand and we separated the cream from the milk after each milking. We had plenty of milk for us and I believe we sold some at one point. This required lots of work. We made our own butter with a butter churn, all taking turns because it took a long time and a lot of elbow greased to churn the milk to butter.

Our horses were mainly workhorses. They were huge and they were mean. I remember that they all had to wear double bites when they wore their harnesses. I was afraid of all of our horses, except one that was just too old to hurt anyone.

One of my jobs, along with some of my siblings, was to feed the pigs. We fed them all the small potatoes that were too small for us to eat or sell. We boiled them in hot water and then carried them to the pigs. In their pen, there was a long wooden trough and I placed the boiled potatoes in there and then the pigs would eat until their hearts were content. What a job! Pigs are very dirty and they make an awful grunting noise when they eat. It may be because it gives them such great pleasure. When the pigs reached a certain size, we butchered them and, in our large cold cellar, we saved the meat in large barrels of salt water. After that, we were all set for the winter. I did not like to see them butchered because I thought it was barbaric to do so. My brothers were quite good at doing this. Lord knows, they butchered plenty of pigs.

Another one of my jobs was to catch the blood from the pigs’ throats after they were butchered. I hated this job because it made me sick to my stomach. My mom made blood sausage and headcheese. She kept some for us and sold the rest at the farmer’s market. I never liked either, but ate them because we ate what Maman prepared for dinner.

We planted potatoes, corn, strawberries, tomatoes, turnips, cabbages, onions, string beans and much more. We had blueberries, raspberries and we experimented with just about everything else that farmers planted and harvested. We had lots of chickens and roosters. Another one of my jobs was to pick the eggs from the nests in the cages. I didn’t mind that one too much because the eggs were so warm and so good to eat. They were fresh, that’s for sure. We slaughtered our chickens once they were fat enough and I remember that when my brothers cut their heads off, the chickens continued hopping around in the yard even after they were slaughtered. How gross was that? Then we dunked them in boiling hot water so that we could pluck their feathers off, clean them out, take all their guts out and wash them so that they were ready for the farmer’s market. This became a ritual every Friday night, so that on Saturday everything was ready for the market. We transported all of our produce by bus to the market which was about fifteen miles away. We loaded everything on to the bus and off we went. We sold everything that we harvested on our farm at the market. We also had many cornfields. Corn was a huge seller. People driving by our farm would often stop and buy it directly from the fields.

Maman also made homemade fudge, bread and rolls. She shelled all of the peanuts, put them aside until she was ready to boil the brown sugar with water and butter. Her raisin bread was a prize winner. It was the best. Her sugar cookies were a huge success and, oh, so good.

Everyone on the farm had chores and work to do. Farming required lots of work and very long hours. Maman wrote us notes to bring to our teachers when potato harvesting season came along. We missed a lot of school because planting the potatoes was a lot of work. And then while they grew, we had to worry about the bugs getting to them, so we went around collecting the bugs off of the potato plants. We put them into jars so they would not return to the potatoes. We also had huge strawberry fields and we all had to help weed them.

I was small, but I was out there with the rest of the family. One day I spotted a nest of snakes in the plants. I let out such a loud screech that my brother Leonard heard me and he came running. He explained that the snakes loved to lie in the warmth of the sun and that is why they made their nests there. To this day, I am still afraid of snakes. I would cross through fire in order to avoid them.

One day while we were harvesting different crops, we used a very large drag (in French, it was called a draguer) that was made out of wood. It was loaded with burlap bags of vegetables and the horse had to pull it. For the trip home, my brother always let me hitch a ride on top of the bags because I was so little and it was too long of a distance to walk. Well, Papa had purchased this old horse for a bargain. On this day, the load was too heavy for the old boy. He tired and he could no longer pull the drag. Still harnessed to the drag, he suddenly stopped and dropped dead—right there in his tracks. Papa promptly took off the harness and said to us, Dig a hole and bury this old horse… . and then go up to the barn and get another horse. We finished the job and brought all the produce up to the house and into the cold cellar. I was upset and so was my sister. This was very traumatic for us children to see. We had never seen anything like this before. In retrospect, I suppose there was nothing else Papa could have done.

When haying season came along, that was really something. My brothers and the crew would cut the hay with sharp blades and then rake it with a huge old-fashioned rake that the horses would pull around the fields. It had a large handle on one side and once there was enough hay in one spot, they pulled the handle and would leave piles of hay all over the fields. This is when we joined in and, with pitch forks, made big piles of hay across the fields. This was very hard work.