A Family’s Private Journey of Unending Grief

In the last minutes of his life, New York firefighter Stephen Siller sprinted through the Brooklyn-Battery tunnel with 80 pounds of gear on his back. He was racing toward the World Trade Center but perished in the Sept. 11 inferno, leaving behind a wife and five young children.

Now, as the one-year anniversary approaches, Siller’s loved ones are traveling through a different tunnel--a dark passage filled with grief and a realization that for all the media chitchat about moving on and picking up the pieces, theirs is a mourning without end.

“What does moving on really mean?” asked Siller’s widow, Sally, as she rocked her daughter Genevieve on a quiet, rainy morning in her Staten Island home. “If it means coming to terms with what happened, none of us have done that. A year is meaningless. We’re still devastated.”

The terrorist attacks killed 283 people from Staten Island, many of them firefighters, and the signs of grieving in Siller’s tranquil, tree-lined neighborhood remain evident months later. Flags, wreaths and pictures of those who died still adorn the front porches of brick and wood-frame homes.

Inside, there are homemade, living room shrines to those who vanished. The Sillers, who were the subject of a Los Angeles Times profile in December, have placed photos of Stephen on shelves, windowsills and tables, alongside other memorabilia marking his service with the New York Fire Department. “Remember this moment,” reads one photo tribute in Sally Siller’s home.

Like many families who lost someone on Sept. 11, the Sillers will mark the anniversary with a special event. On Sept. 29, with the permission of New York City officials, the 1.7-mile Brooklyn-Battery tunnel entering Manhattan will be shut down, and 5,000 people will participate in a charity run retracing Stephen’s route to the World Trade Center. Inside, 343 firefighters will hold flags, commemorating those department members who died. Although the event focuses on one man’s story, it is intended to honor every person who was murdered in the attacks.

For all the strength and inspiration the Sillers hope to draw from such an event, however, their tribute underscores a dilemma facing many 9/11 families: Grieving in private is hard enough, but how do you cope with a tragedy that was also a media event--a day that changed the world forever?

“I believe our run through the tunnel can be a rallying point,” said Sally, a private, soft-spoken woman. “Yet Stephen’s death has been painful because it was out in the open. It was part of something that everyone saw on TV. It’s everywhere. And there are times when I need to be alone.”

The Sillers, a boisterous, fun-loving clan, are the first to understand this and give way. Yet it’s not easy in an extended family of 57 people that was shattered by the loss of Stephen, who was 34 when he died. Their careful respect for Sally’s space clashes with a hunger to be with her and the children: Katie, 10; Olivia, 6; Genevieve, 4; Jake, 2; and Stephen, 20 months.

“These kids are five little pieces of Stephen and they’re all that’s left of him in the world,” said Catherine Mooney, Sally’s sister. “We need to help them as best we can, because at the end of the day, my sister has to face this herself. If anything, her sadness has deepened over time.”

The children have also been affected. Katie has become quieter and more distant in the last year, Catherine said. There are times when Olivia doesn’t feel safe or secure, and Genevieve--at play with other children--will explain that someone is dead because “everybody dies.” Jake walks through the house kissing a picture of his father, and little Stephen, who was born with a heart defect, had major surgery earlier this year that was only partially successful.

From the minute her husband died, Sally, 34, has been overwhelmed with visits from family members, close friends, firefighters and others nearly frantic with a desire to help. She has rarely been alone, and those closest to her know that this concern can be a hindrance as well as a help.

“There are moments when Sally needs to breathe, to be by herself,” said her mother, Ann. “You need to let go. But in this family, that’s hard.”

The youngest of seven siblings, Stephen Siller was marked by tragedy at an early age. Both his parents died by the time he was 10, and he was raised by much older brothers and sisters. Determined to start a family of his own, he married Sally Wilson, a childhood friend from the same tree-lined Staten Island neighborhood where he grew up. They had five children in 10 years.

Stephen, outgoing and eager to help others, was drawn to the Fire Department, where he gained a reputation as a workaholic. He always had the scanner on, even on his days off, and that played a role in his death. On the morning of Sept. 11 he had finished work and was driving away from the Brooklyn firehouse where he was a member of Squad One, an elite rescue company. Siller was planning to join his brothers to play golf, but then he heard the first crackling reports of the attacks on the World Trade Center.

Wheeling around in traffic, he gunned his black Ford pickup toward the Brooklyn-Battery tunnel. But it was closed to all vehicles, so he took off on foot until an engine company picked him up near the other side. He was last seen near the South Tower, just before it collapsed. Squad One lost 12 of its 27 members in the inferno.

“Every time I see that footage on television, I’m thinking: ‘That’s the exact moment my brother was murdered,’ ” said Janis Hannan, one of Stephen’s three sisters. “And if you keep thinking that, as we do, it can play havoc with your life.”

Getting over Stephen’s death has been difficult because he played such a unique role in his family. He was the free-spirited, irrepressible kid, the organizer of epic vacations and zany weekend activities. He was a tireless dad who spent endless hours with kids, a confidant to his brothers and sisters, an exuberant life force who got all of them off their duffs.

In death, he continues to have a similar effect.

His brother George runs a Staten Island sporting goods store and normally tries to relax on the weekends. Since the family began planning the charity run, he’s been up at 6 a.m. most days, calling merchants to line up financial support and organize other contributions. He’s kept up a dizzying pace, like the others in his clan, and the change stuns him.

“I feel like a hyper teenager in the body of a tired, 50-year-old man,” he cracked, rifling through posters advertising the run that have been placed in delis and stores throughout Staten Island, Manhattan and parts of Long Island. “It’s like Stephen has taken over my entire life.”

For some, the frantic rush to get everything ready for the charity run has built a psychological wall against the pain they experience every day.

“I’m running from morning till night because Stephen took over our lives,” Janis said. “I just hope we’re not running away from feelings.”

Long before the anniversary, the Sillers began discussing an appropriate memorial for Stephen. They considered testimonial dinners, golf tournaments and other ways to raise money for the Stephen Siller “Let Us Do Good” Children’s Foundation that had been created in his memory. The nonprofit group has been distributing funds to children who have lost a parent or have other special needs.

When they hit on the idea of a Tunnel to Towers charity run, some family members initially were skeptical. How could they possibly navigate the labyrinth of city departments whose approval would be needed to shut down one of New York’s busiest inter-borough tunnels on a Sunday afternoon?

“We met with city officials from the Department of Transportation and, to our amazement, we had a lot of people saying yes to us,” said Frank, another of Stephen’s brothers. “It just steamrolled, and now it’s going to happen.”

The purpose of the run is to remember Stephen’s sacrifice and those of everyone else who died in the terrorist attacks. Planners say the estimated $250,000 that will be raised from participants in the 5-kilometer walk and run will be split between the Sillers’ foundation and the NYC Firefighter Burn Center Foundation.

With its blending of private grieving and public remembrance, the Tunnel to Towers run is unique among the many observances planned for Sept. 11 victims in New York. Most events are strictly private, such as dinners or funeral Masses; only a handful are intended for the public.

Organizing the event has consumed family members; like a small army they’ve fanned out to publicize the run and work with city agencies to ensure a dignified ceremony near the trade center site when the race ends.

But all this work, all the hectic planning, can never take away the grief that still shadows them. On a recent morning, Stephen’s three sisters--Janis, Regina Vogt and Mary Scullin--shared coffee in Regina’s kitchen and spoke of how they’ve learned to cope.

Mary, for example, has avoided watching too much world news, hoping to shut out the anger that could consume her. Regina remembers the good times, the parties, weddings and backyard picnics where Stephen brought life to all of them. Earlier this year, Janis moved back to the New Brighton neighborhood where the Sillers and Wilsons still live, to be closer to family. But she weeps at the realization that Stephen never will be able to bring his kids to her porch on one of his famous unannounced visits.

In his living room several blocks away, Frank tells how he spent a recent night at the site of the twin towers, helping a work crew remove what turned out to be the last physical remains of New York City firefighters found under the South Tower. It was the last chance, he said, to try to find his brother.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there, but a friend made it possible, and I was so hopeful that we’d find Stephen,” Frank said with a catch in his voice. “What I saw that night wasn’t normal, and I can’t really talk about it. We didn’t find anything related to Stephen. But it was important to try.”

For other family members, the simple kindness they show each other is another way to get through their tunnel of grief. The Sillers and Wilsons were always close, Stephen’s brother Russell said. But nothing like now.

“We had a bond built around barbecues, weddings and christenings,” he said. “Today, though, we’ve been brought together by the aftermath of Stephen’s death. Other families might have drifted apart, but we didn’t.”

In the last year, hellos and goodbyes seem deeper, more heartfelt, Catherine said. The Sillers and Wilsons don’t take feelings for granted anymore.

“When Russell says goodbye to me these days, he gives me a big hug, and he’ll say: ‘God bless you, Catherine,’ like he was my brother,” she said. “Life is so precious now. We’ve been changed. We’ve been marked by this.”

A year later, Sally sees reminders of Stephen’s death everywhere: on TV, in her mail, in random chats with neighbors and in local stores, where posters advertising the Tunnel to Towers run feature his smiling photo.

There are days when she doesn’t know if she’s actually going to attend the event, no matter how much she supports it. Then, gathering her strength, she vows to participate. No one in the family is pressuring her to decide.

“Who could blame her for wanting to be alone?” Mary asked. “But there have been signs, important signs, I think, that Sally is moving forward.”

A turning point came in June, when she addressed parents and graduating students at the Sacred Heart school in her neighborhood. She had agreed to speak on behalf of the family’s foundation and, after handing out six $1,000 scholarships to children who had lost a parent, she spoke publicly for the first time about her husband’s death and Sept. 11.

“It was hard getting up to speak, but I got through the things I wanted to say,” Sally recalled. “I told children who had lost a parent that they must never lose hope. I said that maybe people had heard about my husband, but they might not realize he lost both his parents when he was young.

“When I looked up, everybody in the room was crying,” she added. “And then I began to cry. I was drained by the whole experience, but I felt better because maybe I’d made a difference in these children’s lives.”

During recent weeks, Sally has tried to focus more on her own needs. She’s walking regularly, practicing yoga, taking brief vacations with family members and focusing on the rich memories of her life with Stephen.

“We encourage her so much,” George said. “But who can tell? She could be crying her eyes out from midnight till dawn and we wouldn’t know.”

There have indeed been rough evenings. Nights when children crawl into bed with Sally, crying for their father. Nights of numbing darkness.

But there is also hope. Lately, Sally has been practicing the saxophone late in the evening. She always loved to play, but had to stop taking lessons after each of her kids was born. There’s nothing stopping her now, and after the children are asleep she’s been letting it rip at midnight.

“I guess the whole neighborhood knows that I play,” she said sheepishly. “I love the blues. Someday I want to sing in a rock band.”

It might be a crazy dream, she concedes, but the thought of a better life ahead, a beacon of possibility, brings a radiant smile to her face.

“I want my kids to know the woman their father fell in love with, if not now, then soon,” she said. “And I hear Stephen telling me that every day. He says: ‘Keep on going. Keep running. Make it through the tunnel.’ ”