I did wear my Lions hat and vest so our Association was very visible. From

what I was told a similar bus arrangement was leaving from N.J with other families. I am sure Marty can put a cap on this story for he is at the camp waiting the arrival of the families.

SYIL

Jack Weber PID

By DAVID CONNERTY-MARIN, Portland Press Herald Writer

Copyright © 2002 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

CASCO — Jennifer Jacobs keeps forgetting to put out the garbage. Like so many details that have changed in her life since her husband died in the World

Trade Center's south tower on Sept. 11, she is now responsible for that one, too. "I've had neighbors nice enough to call me to remind me it was garbage day," said Jacobs, of Randolph, N.J. She's also had to take care of a leak in the basement and a piece of roof that fell off.

Jacobs is sitting on the second-floor balcony outside her room at Camp Sunshine, under tall pines. Her 20-month-old daughter Zoe is napping inside.

She and 27 other mothers and one father and all their children are here for a week to be pampered and to have fun, to let someone else take care of the children, to breathe and grieve freely, away from the daily harangue of post-Sept. 11 coverage that will not quit.

And for an opportunity to face their changed lives with the only people who can understand what they're going through - others who know what it's like to lose a spouse or father for no other reason than that they went to work that morning.

The camp, which has built a national reputation over 18 years by taking care of the families of children with life-threatening diseases, looks different this week. For one, the parents are almost exclusively women. And for another, the children look healthy.

"During cancer week, you can see kids with bald heads," said Matt Hoidal, the camp's executive director. "It's obvious, it's in your face."

The differences largely end there. Hoidal and the many volunteers who serve here say these are families in crisis, and their needs are the same.

"This is something we do all the time," said Marty Grossman, a 14-year veteran volunteer and now a member of the camp's board of directors. "We are experienced in dealing with disaster."

Grossman, who lives in Hillsdale, N.J., went to various survivors' groups in New York and New Jersey during the spring to promote the weeklong camp experience.

He went to a widows' group in Basking Ridge, N.J., and told them about the program. "We just talked and talked and talked," he said. "And I cried and they cried." There were 30 women, and seven decided to attend with their children.

But for many, it was a hard sell. The American Camping Association offered 800 free slots to kids of Sept. 11 families, but only filled 125 of them.

"I went everywhere," Grossman said. "With 3,000 families, only 28 are attending. They're not ready to go. Many are just not ready to go."

Jacobs was ready.

"I'm trying to do what I can to put my life back in order," she said. "We had our direction, our goals, our path, and now that's shifted and I have to figure out what the new one is."

Nancy Yambem was also ready. She lives in Beacon, N.Y., more than an hour north of New York City. Like other widows here who gained a sort of instant celebrity they never desired, she graciously answers the questions she has been answering over and over for nine months.

Her husband was a banquet manager at Windows on the World, the elegant restaurant atop One World Trade Center. He was there that day in charge of a daylong corporate banquet.

Father's Day, birthdays and Thanksgiving are hard for the families, but everyday life can be as grueling, they say.

"A lot of people say, 'You're so strong,' " said Yambem. "You feel yourself you'd never be able to handle something like this. You're forced to go through the normal cycle of keeping the kids going."

Her son Santi (pronounced Shanti) started kindergarten this year. He needs breakfast and to go to school. He needs his mother to be there for him.

She used to work full time an hour from her home. But since her husband died, she has had to take on the responsibilities of both parents - yardwork, paperwork, bills.

"I've learned to ask for help. I have no family locally. I have learned to hire people to do some of the work," she said.

"Most important in my life is keeping my son together," she said. And because he is only 5, she wants to make sure he does not forget who his father was. She is keeping a scrapbook. And every night they blow a kiss to his father, the way he used to blow a kiss to Santi as he would drive off to work. The camp is free to the families - this week is paid for by Lions Club International and UJA-Federation of New York. Another 20 families will be invited to stay for a week in October, courtesy of Toys R Us Children's Fund Inc. The many offers of help included one by AirLifeLine, a volunteer organization of private airplane pilots who offered to fly any of the families to the camp.

Yambem was one of five to accept. The rest took a bus. "I thought it would be fun for my son," she said.

"When 9-11 hit, families couldn't believe someone could be so evil," Yambem said. "Since then this country has given such an outpouring. . . .There's still good in the world."

By DAVID M. HERSZENHORN

ASCO, Me., July 2 — Christopher DaMota lay on his stomach on a pier, dipping his hand into the opaque waters of Sebago Lake as he and other boys in the 9-to-12 age group at Camp Sunshine waited for a boat to take them fishing. They had been on the go since breakfast and had already spent part of the morning kicking a giant soccer ball up and down a field.

It seemed like an innocent snapshot of summertime bliss. But for the children who lost a parent on Sept. 11, grief is never far away. So while Christopher waited on the pier, his mother, Barbara DaMota, was in the camp's main building, in a counseling session with other parents who lost spouses on Sept. 11. They talked about religion and the government, about their children, about moving on.

Camp Sunshine, which normally runs weeklong programs for severely ill children and their families, is one of dozens of summer camps running programs for families shattered by Sept. 11. Some, like Camp Sunshine, which is holding a special session this week for the relatives of victims of the terror attacks, have built-in bereavement programs. Others are simply intended to let children get away and have fun.

But all the programs are grappling with a common obstacle: while many children could benefit from a getaway in the country, many are not ready to be away from their remaining parents. So while all the programs are free, most of the interest has been in day camps or places like Camp Sunshine where whole families go together.

"Families who lost someone on 9/11 are hesitant to send their child away to sleep-away camp, which makes sense," said Brian Scholl, the executive director of the New York Section of the American Camping Association. In the fall, the camping organization created a program called Heal the Children in which more

than 200 accredited camps nationwide have offered free camp for as many as 800 children. Only about 115 of those slots were filled.

"I met with some families of 9/11, and they just weren't ready," Mr. Scholl said. In light of this, he said, the offer stands so that children who are not ready this year can decide to go next year, or later.

The camps offer blessings and challenges for both parents and children.

Nancy Cincotta, the psychosocial director of the camp, who led the counseling group at Camp Sunshine, said some women spoke about how hard it was just to make the road trip to Maine without their husbands to check the oil or the tires on the family car.

"Whether they drove alone, packed alone, or figured out the directions alone, the tasks were all theirs," Ms. Cincotta said. "They have to get on with their lives."

One sleep-away camp that has generated substantial interest is Camp Haze, a new camp founded by Amy Callahan, whose boyfriend, Scott Hazelcorn, died at the World Trade Center. The camp will run Aug. 19-25 and will be held this year at Kennybrook Camp in Monticello, N.Y., which Mr. Hazelcorn attended as a child. Ms. Callahan acknowledged that persuading some parents was hard.

"We have almost 80 campers coming, and I think the difference is that when I speak to family members, I am a victim of Sept. 11 also," she said. There will be grief counseling available at Camp Haze, but Ms. Callahan said the focus would be on camp, not grief.

"They can opt to do activities related to Sept. 11 or not," she said. "Our camp is for fun. We're not a grief camp. Our mission is to bring smiles back to children's faces who have had a really tough year."

Ms. Callahan said she understood why many parents were not ready to send their children to regular camp programs. "The healing process is just beginning," she said. "If a child wants to go home, we have transportation to get them home."

For Christopher DaMota, the outlook for summer had been bleak. After school ended last month, he moped around his house in Valley Stream, N.Y. On Sept. 11 his father, Manuel DaMota, a woodworker, was helping to build a new wine room for Windows on the World.

Barbara DaMota, Christopher's mother, said her son told her: "This is the worst about my vacation. With Daddy, I can do lots of things. What am I going to do?" Mrs. DaMota said that she learned about Camp Sunshine through Windows of Hope, a victims' support organization. "I want to get to know other families and my son to meet other children in his situation, so he knows he's not the only one," she said in an interview at her home just two days before leaving for camp.

Early Sunday morning, a friend dropped Mrs. DaMota and her family at a Shea Stadium parking lot to board the bus to Maine. In addition to Christopher, she has a 3-month-old son, Manuelito, named for the father he never knew. Mrs. DaMota's own father and her sister, visiting from Paraguay, also went to camp, where each family was allowed to bring a total of six people.

As a small group gathered to wait for the bus, family members shyly introduced themselves. Karen Pabon, whose husband, Israel, worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, was with her daughters, Hannah, 6, and Sara, 5. Mrs. Pabon chatted with Jennifer Tull, whose mother, Pauline Tull-Francis, also worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, the bond trading firm. "I remember my husband talking about your mother," Mrs. Pabon said.

Ms. Tull was going to camp with her daughter, Rogrina, 18; her sister, Francine Tull; and Francine Tull's children, Katrina, 14; Oral, 5; and Shane, 2. "On the 11th of this month, I put everything in a keepsake box and packed it all away," Jennifer Tull said, explaining to Mrs. Pabon how she had taken down all but one of the many pictures she had up of her mother. Mrs. Pabon replied quietly, "I haven't."

The bus had barely departed before Christopher DaMota began asking Camp Sunshine's executive director, Matt Hoidal, if he could go swimming as soon as they arrived. Several children wanted to know if all of the camp activities that Mr. Hoidal described were free. On Monday night, Christopher celebrated his 11th birthday at camp. He was given a cake with trick candles that relighted when he tried to blow them out.

At the camp, the program usually intended to help two parents who are coping with a severely ill child had to be adjusted to cater to single parents coping with loss. Laura Bean, the family services director of the camp, which is sponsored by the Lions Clubs International Foundation and the UJA-Federation of New York, greeted the families on their first night. "The first thing I saw when I stood on stage was total exhaustion," she said. "I think now it's all about the children and survival and moving forward."

On Tuesday morning, Mrs. Pabon was scurrying back to her room to get a towel for one of her daughters who was swimming in the camp pool. "They love it," she said. "They're having so much fun. They're forgetting about everything, I think."

Mrs. DaMota said Christopher was enjoying camp. "It's good for him," she said. "He's crazy for the water." She said that Christopher was getting a break from worrying about her. "He doesn't want to cry, because when he cries, I cry," she said.

But Mrs. DaMota said she was having a hard time. The group counseling had focused on religion and politics and anger at the government for not doing more to prevent the attack, topics that did not appeal to her. "What I feel, I have inside," she said, putting a hand on her heart. "I feel alone."

In addition to regular camp fun and games, two special activities were scheduled evoking the families' shared loss: a balloon launch on Tuesday night in which notes to lost loved ones were attached to the balloons, and a ceremony on the Fourth of July to dispatch wish boats, small wooden boats made by the children and carrying a special wish, out onto the dark waters of Sebago Lake.

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Dear (PID) Jack,

The week was an extraordinary event. As you know the article was in

Saturday's New York Times with a photo on page one. On Thursday evening they showed a power point presentation which summarized beautifully the events of the week. I asked for two copies of the presentation. One I will keep for use in our Multiple, the other I will give to Bob to be shown possibly at the USA-Canada Forum. I will let John Wargo know that I have it and will show it our WTC Steering Committee meeting in Syracuse on 8/17. Thanks for all your help. If I was proud to be a Lion before this week, I am even prouder now! Marty Grossman did a great job, and we owe our deepest gratitude.

Angelo