By Jennifer Marino
In Rockville Centre so many were lost in the terrorist attacks and so many more have been left behind to mourn and celebrate the lives cut off much too soon. Several family members shared their stories of coping and carrying on at a time when the shock was wearing off and the reality was washing over them like high tide.
Like a dad
In the dining room of Russell Siller's Rockville Centre home is a collection of photographs, flags and memorabilia.
There's his shrine, said Russell, gesturing towards the top of the cabinet where the treasures reside. The shrine is to his youngest brother, Stephen, a New York City firefighter.
Russell helped raise him after both their parents died within a year of each other. Stephen was only 11 years old when he went to live with Russell and his wife, Jacqueline. Stephen spent his adolescence in Rockville Centre and attended St. Agnes High School. He went on to become a firefighter with Squad 1 in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Stephen gave his life doing his job.
In the beginning, your just stunned, said Russell. At first he kept busy. He's worked with the Friends of Rockville Centre 911 Memorial Fund, and the Sillers formed the Stephen Siller, FDNY Let Us Do Good Children's Foundation in December. The foundation hopes to help children who have lost one or both parents or who have other special needs. The family is also sponsoring the Tunnel to Towers Run on Sept. 29 (see page 2).
The approaching anniversary is going to be a rough time, according to Russell. The realization is that this really did happen, he said.
Russell has found comfort in a sibling support group at the World Trade Center Child and Family Counseling Program on Merrick Road. He has also found a much larger support group in the form of his village. This town has been extraordinary, he said, citing Rockville Centre's two charities We Care RVC Fund and the Friends of RVC, and the others who lost family members.
It's been an honor to meet the other families, he said.
He has also looked to Stephen's wife, Sally, as an example. I marvel at my sister-in-law, he said, adding that she has been strong for her five children.
On Sept. 11, Russell plans to go to the ceremonies at the Trade Center site. He already attended the closing ceremonies held there over the summer. I hope lower Manhattan comes roaring back, he said.
Russell hopes to emulate Stephen instead of just remembering him. Our family will honor him if we even approach being the person he was, he said.
A flame for a fireman
The sun is shining, the sky is blue and cloudless and there is little or no humidity as Bridget Hunter walks the few blocks to her son's eternal flame outside the South Hempstead Firehouse. It's an August day reminiscent of the streak of beautiful weather that followed Sept. 11.
She points out the trophies surrounding the shiny, granite memorial etched with her son Joe's handsome face and the green shamrock that is made of marble from Connemara, Ireland. The trophies were won by the department's drill team, of which Joe had been a valued member.
There are small angel figurines and a picture drawn on lined paper, by a child named Mary, of the twin towers and two stick figures labeled me and Joe H.
The monument has given the Hunters a place to go. Only Joe's helmet was recovered so there is no grave. He was a firefighter with Squad 288 in Maspeth, Queens, a squad specially trained to deal with terrorism.
Bridget mentions that she has to spruce up some of the flowers that have been sagging under the summer heat. The flowers remind her of a story. A neighborhood boy had come around before the monument was unveiled in a ceremony on Memorial Day and planted impatiens. Don't tell my mom, he had warned Bridget, worried he might get stuck with garden duties at his house.
The tiny plants, given time, can grow large and covered in blooms, but there wasn't much time before the ceremony, which also involved renaming the street corner, Joe Hunter Way. So the firemen, wanting everything to be perfect, planted larger plants overnight.
When Bridget came to check on the progress, she saw that petunias had replaced the impatiens. She was amazed. Her daughter, who had died in a car crash years earlier, was nicknamed Petunia.
She had a hand in it too, Bridget said looking at the purple, pink and white flowers.
A typical mom, Bridget worried about Joe. She was always telling him, God bless you, before he left for work. One day he explained to her that she shouldn't worry because no matter what happened he loved what he did.
The Hunters have found support near and far. Bridget attends a bereavement group for parents of firefighters at the Freeport firehouse. The group, she says, laughs, cries and calls each other for support on bad days.
She is grateful to her immediate community and New York City. Mayor Mike Bloomberg called her in August to say he was thinking of the family.
The Hunters have also made a connection with the people of Germany. A man there saw what was happening in America on Sept. 11 and decided he had to help. He raised $100,000 with the help of Commerce Bank, and came to New York City with the determination to give the money to a firehouse. He just didn't know which firehouse. On a walk from his hotel to a McDonald's he spotted a truck from Squad 288 and approached a fire fighter.
The somewhat skeptical fireman put him in touch with the squad's captain and a relationship was formed. The Hunters and other family members from Squad 288 took a two week trip to Germany in August.
Joe Hunter memorabilia decorated firehouses throughout the country. When people found out who the group was, they were shown immeasurable kindness, including a $100 shopping spree at a rest stop.
Still, the wound remains raw. The hurt will always be with them, said Bridget. We feel no better. We miss him, she said.
On Sept. 11, she would like to gather 343 balloons and let them go outside the firehouse. Perhaps some of the weight of the Hunters' sorrow can float up into the blue sky with those balloons.
Pain, loss and staying positive
Claire Logler tries to be positive. She wants to do things that her daughter Beth would be proud of, but feelings of pain and loss are a part of everyday life.
Beth, whose full name is Elizabeth Claire Logler, worked as vice president of investor relations at eSpeed, a division of Cantor Fitzgerald. In her honor, the New York Chapter of the National Investor Relations Institute has set up a memorial internship program. It will be a paid summer internship that will be offered to children of fallen firefighters and police officers.
A computer corner has been set up in memory of Beth at a center for children with disabilities in Point Lookout. Two baby girls born to family friends have been named after Beth too.
Beth's fianc
