By JOSEPH KELLARD
"It's like when you have a baby, you start counting how old it is by days, then weeks, then months, and even after a year it's still 12, 18, 22 months," Miller explained. "But then when you get to two years, it's two years! My god, it's been two years since I last touched him."
Miller was on hand at South Nassau Communities Hospital's World Trade Center Trauma and Bereavement Counseling Program two days before the second anniversary of her husband's death. After the "massacre," as she describes the terrorist attacks on her husband, the head of disaster recovery for Marsh & McLennan, and thousands of other innocents, she found solace in the Rockville Centre counseling center. Today, along with several others like her, she is a staff member, a coordinator of the family program that is just one of 23 groups the center organized in the wake of the attacks.
Miller's transformation from someone who sought help to someone who now offers it represents the extent of healing and growth hundreds of people who attend the center have experienced since the worst day of their lives two Septembers ago. But for many of these people -- more than 300 children (64 of whom were born after their fathers' deaths) and 700 adults -- their pain and grief are just as strong today as they were then.
Just as it did last September, Miller's grief intensified as the second annivarsary of 9/11 neared. But this feeling is constant, and in some ways she relives Sept. 11 "each and every day," she said.
Marilyn Weinberg, a Bellmore resident who lost her son, Steven, an accounting manager with Baseline Financial Services, expressed similar sentiments. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't cry for him," she said with tear-filled eyes.
Add to their suffering the fact that their loved ones were not only taken from them so abruptly and horrifically, but that it was a public massacre, Miller said. Moreover, the images of the planes crashing diabolically into the towers, replayed more often on television as the anniversary approached, as well as a few recent events, triggered in people some nightmarish memories of that day.
Some of them, for example, originally thought August's blackout in the northeast was terrorist-related, and that something horrific was looming. For others, the release of the 911 tapes of victims trapped in the towers opened old wounds, and many believe they shouldn't have been made public, or should have been released to the families first.
It is issues like these that people like Miller, Weinberg and others discuss at the center. While some people, for instance, believe that the images of the planes crashing into the towers shouldn't be replayed, others, like Miller, think that while they should be aired less often, they nevertheless must be shown.
"I don't want to forget," Miller said. "We shouldn't be desensitized to that."
"I come here because I'm with people who are in the same position I am in," said Weinberg, a member of the center's parent group. "Everyone understands what the other is going through."
Last week, the center hosted a dinner with its grief workshop, and a new potted memorial tree was placed in the lobby, on which children left poems, notes and photos in memory of their deceased loved ones.
The walls there are covered with photos of the many activities children take part in together, from parties for tykes to outdoor outings for teenagers.
While each of the 23 groups differs in the participants' ages and their relations to the deceased, the center's staff said that it is generally more difficult for adolescents to express their emotions in formal group settings. The staff engages teens in activities like boardsailing and kayaking, or events like Mets games, in order to make it easier for them to connect with one another. "They find it's a more relaxed atmosphere for the teenagers," said teen coordinator Dr. Laurie Nadel.
In recent weeks, Nadel has observed that these teens seemed more anxious. She explained that they experience images of planes crashing into buildings, and that this feeds their expressed fear -- and sometimes hatred -- of flying. During a trip to Manhattan with younger kids to see a Peter Maxx art exhibit, Nadel noted the look of fear on one young girl as a plane flew nearby.
Nadel said that the center's activities, like its party for Harry Potter, the fictional orphan who demonstrates resolve and courage in the face of his troubles, are geared toward assisting kids in overcoming such fears.
"There's a lot of strength and resilience among the kids who were victimized," said Dr. Tom Demaria, founder of the WTC Trauma Center and administrative director of behavioral health at SNCH.
Demaria, Nadel and other staff members said that the theme the center hears most often from the outside world is that the families "should be over it by now." Nadel explained that some people react to this recurring comment with guilt over what they keep feeling. But while time may mitigate or heal some wounds, their grief will never completely go away.
"People grieve and heal in different ways," she explained. "There are so many different levels of meaning for that day and the attacks."
While the center's staff believes it has more work to do, it faces the reality that funding for the program will end on Oct. 1. Twenty-two of the individual programs are funded through Project Liberty, a federal fund for disaster relief. Funding for Home Ground, the program for rescue and recovery workers, however, will continue for another two years. SNCH is nonetheless determined to continue its services.
"The hospital is looking for ways to extend the funding, especially major private funding," Demaria said.
Families have assumed more control over their lives, he contined, and he and his staff are determined to continue these developments. "We've seen them go from passive, depleted people to those who are functioning much better, and some are even working here now," Demaria said, gesturing toward Miller.
