By Jason Scheer
Her profound sense of loss was shared not only by relatives and friends of the deceased but by all Americans. And yet Jacqueline felt alone, as if nobody could understand what she had gone through.
Her mother, Allison, now a widow, also felt alienated. Though people would greet her with compassion and concern, she felt they couldn't possibly empathize with the feelings churning inside her. Every hello and every hug was a gesture of hollow pity, well-meaning but without a sense of real understanding.
"I had a need at some point to look in someone else's eyes and not have this sorrowful look coming back at me," Allison said.
In addition to having to cope with the loss of her husband, Allison also had to help Jacqueline and her two boys, 11-year-old Steven and 10-year-old David, get through the ordeal.
As much as she was trying to help them, it was her boys who eventually gave Allison what she was looking for. They came home with fliers announcing the opening of the South Nassau Communities Hospital center for the World Trade Center Child and Family Therapy Program.
After putting off attending the program for months, Allison finally gave them a call and went to a meeting.
"For me it took a few months, and then I think one day, I just went in on my own," she said. "At the time, I think I just needed to meet other families and to see that there were other people going through what I was going through."
It was there, at the recently vacant 6,500-square-foot storefront in Rockville Centre, that Allison found the sense of understanding she had been searching for.
The building, a former medical supply warehouse, was purchased by the hospital just days after Sept. 11. It was quickly transformed from a warehouse into a sanctuary, a second home where those affected by the attacks could go without an appointment, and without the need to pay a doctor's fee to participate in counseling groups, sleepovers and various other activities. There, they could begin to carve out their own sense of community within the one that had experienced such tremendous devastation.
Thomas Demaria, the administrative director of Behavior and Health at South Nassau, oversaw the program from its inception and feels that it provides families, like the Hobbses, with the best possible atmosphere to cope with their loss.
"The benefit of having other people be with you who have been through the trauma is tremendous," he said. "They'll understand the unique trauma and the unique pain associated with the World Trade Center attacks."
Demaria acknowledged that the sense of solitude Allison was feeling was shared by many of the more than 1,000 participants in the program. People who lost loved ones in the terrorist attacks simply saw the world, forever changed by the events, in a totally different way then everyone else, Demaria said.
For example, people who lost a loved one would respond very differently to an increased terrorist alert then those whose only connection to the attacks were viewing it on television or reading about it in newspapers. "Hearing there's a high terrorism alert, to someone who has lost a father, has a whole different meaning," he said.
So the program tried to cultivate a sense of camaraderie, friendship and family among the participants. Children participated in a Harry Potter night, where they were asked to put themselves in the shoes of the boy wizard, who lost both his parents. Through role-playing like this, children were able to express their emotions to one another and to the doctors on staff in a way that was both non-intimidating and beneficial.
Participants in the program also took part in activities away from the center, including a boardsailing event. That excursion gave a sense of empowerment to people whose sense of control crumbled along with the Twin Towers. "It's a way for them to feel a sense of mastery and control," Demaria said.
Nearly two years after Sept. 11, 2001, the center is still receiving calls from people who are just now hearing about the program, and each week 150 people who felt hopelessly lost two years ago pass through their doors in an ongoing effort to get some direction.
However, Project Liberty, the grant program that is the monetary backbone of the center, is about to be terminated, and the hospital is seeking alternative means of support. Dan Rowland, vice president of development at South Nassau, said that the hospital is working diligently to acquire new grants so that the program can continue to provide valuable services to those who need it.
"Given our success at achieving these goals, we have made a commitment to continue to provide these services for the families," he said. "We may need to find another means of support."
On Friday, July 18, the hospital joined with pop art icon Peter Max in an effort to solicit funds and garner some media attention. Max and representatives from the hospital appeared at the Wentworth Gallery in Roosevelt Field Mall. Max has agreed to donate the proceeds of one of his paintings, which he hopes to sell for $50,000. Max will also be meeting with hospital representatives to discuss additional donations throughout August.
While the hospital awaits news on other grants, Rowland said it dedicated to the program, adding that as long as the program is in existence, it will be provided free of charge. "In the case of providing crisis counseling, that's something you can't charge for," he said. "It's important that these people know that we will be there for them."
Allison Hobbs is one of those people. She hopes that the center will continue to thrive so that her children, too young to fully comprehend what has happened to their father, will have a place to go when they are old enough to grasp the enormity of the attacks.
"I think that when they are comfortable enough, when they're ready to talk, they will go there," she said.
As for her, she is thankful for the program that has surrounded her with help, guidance and, perhaps most significantly, people who understand. "Just looking in someone's eyes and knowing what they're going through, that was so important," she said.