[Congressional Record Volume 147, Number 147 (Tuesday, October 30, 2001)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages E1939-E1940]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
WASHING AWAY GRIEF
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HON. STEVE ISRAEL
of new york
in the house of representatives
Tuesday, October 30, 2001
Mr. ISRAEL. Mr. Speaker, this article appeared in Newsday on Tuesday,
October 23, 2001, on page A7. I would like to sincerely thank and
commend Jean Gioglio for her generosity and kindness in donating her
son Michael Gioglio's clothes to the World Trade Center rescue workers.
Washing Away Grief
Mother donates deceased son's clothes to rescue workers
(By Nedra Rhone)
It was nearing some ungodly hour, and as rescue workers
labored at Ground Zero hoping to find traces of the missing,
Jean Gioglio labored over her washing machine.
Suds from a homemade cocktail of detergent and disinfectant
bubbled about and the piles of clothing seemed to grow before
her eyes, but she was determined to finish. The weatherman
had predicted rain for the next day, and Gioglio wanted to
get the clothing to rescue workers by morning.
As the machine rumbled in her Bay Shore home, Gioglio wrote
a letter. ``I cannot fathom how you have the strength to
carry on, but from the bottom of my heart, I am grateful to
you!!''
Into every sleeve, every trouser leg and each pocket she
tucked the note explaining exactly where the items came from.
``These are Mike's clothes; you see, he doesn't need them
anymore . . . he died three years ago . . . I've asked
Michael to be your guardian angel.''
Michael was Gioglio's 19-year-old son. And in the three
years since his death, she has held on. Held on to his
clothing, his possessions, his life. Two nights after the
attack on the World Trade Center, Gioglio was ready to let
go.
``It hurts me that I'd been holding on to Mike's clothes. I
was thinking about how tired the rescue workers must be, how
shocked. I was stuffing letters into the shirts and just
wanting them to put them on, find that piece of paper, and
not feel anonymous,'' Gioglio said.
When Michael Gioglio was 16, Timothy McVeigh bombed the
Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. ``He
wanted to jump on the plane right then,'' Gioglio said. He
wanted to help the rescuers there in what was then the worst
act of terror in America. ``He was too young, how could I
just take a kid into that environment?''
Michael gave logical reasons, Gioglio said. He was strong,
level-headed and willing to follow direction, he told her.
But the answer was still no. Michael never said another word
about it.
Then, three years later, he committed suicide, and with
time, Gioglio started the process of healing. But she never
was able to part with her son's belongings.
``Being surrounded with Mike's things made it a little more
comforting,'' she said. ``It gave me a feel for what was.''
Michael was an athletic young man. The walls of his bedroom
still display the more sentimental reminders of his life--
football photos, lacrosse pads, a golf iron.
People told her that when the time was right to let go, she
would know. It just never seemed to come.
Until the moment in mid-September, when Michael had a
second chance to help. She found herself in his old room
pulling long-forgotten clothing out of drawers and closets.
``Humanity is dying,'' Gioglio said about her sudden
motivation, ``and the simplest things are going to get all of
us to a better place.''
It had taken years for Gioglio to get to this point, but as
she packed her son's belongings, which had remained in his
bedroom untouched, her state-of-mind surprised her.
``I was comfortable with it; I'm not heartbroken at all,''
she said.
In fact, it felt as if Michael had tapped her on the
shoulder and told her to do something, she said.
Family members who had watched Gioglio grieve over the
years thought it was wonderful that she was able to give away
her son's material possessions, Gioglio said.
``Sometimes people need something, some significant event,
to jump-start some type of healing or resolution,'' said Jill
Rathus, associated professor of psychology at Long Island
University's C.W. Post campus. The World Trade Center attack
may have helped push Gioglio to the next phase of healing.
The tragedy could have many different effects on people who
previously experienced
[[Page E1940]]
the loss of a loved one, Rathus said. For some it may prove a
setback, with the event serving as confirmation of their
already altered world view and flooding them with painful
memories. Others, like Gioglio, may believe their mourning is
shared and find a greater sense of community with those now
experiencing loss.
On Sept. 22, Michael would have turned 23 years old.
``I know there would have been no stopping him now,''
Gioglio said.
Her son was no bleeding heart, she said, but he did care
about animals, the environment and kids.
``You wouldn't pick him out in a crowd and say `He's a
humanitarian,' '' Gioglio said, ``but he is there quietly in
the background doing what he can.''
This time, his work in the background offered some form of
comfort to weary firefighters, police officers and emergency
workers.
Piece by piece, Gioglio ironed, folded and labeled
Michael's clothing, bundling size 34 pants and large-sized
sweatshirts into neatly wrapped piles that she delivered to
Island Harvest, the Long Island based organization that
maintained a warehouse for donations.
``It just stood out because it was clear that somebody went
through a lot of trouble to make sure this was going to get
to the firemen,'' said Tom Waring, president of the group,
whose volunteers organized about 300,000 pounds of tools,
medical supplies, food and clothing. Waring later called
Gioglio to thank her.
It was pouring rain the day local volunteers distributed
Michael's clothing to rescue workers. A number of people
called or wrote letters that same day to say, yes, her note
really had helped them feel better.
One rescuer had just wiped the soot from his face and arms
with baby wipes and reached for Mike's clean, dry shirt, when
the letter fluttered out.
``He said to me, `I want to run home and hug my kids, but
first I wanted to tell you that this is definitely a hug from
yours,' '' Gioglio said.
She believes that Michael is there at Ground Zero--
hopefully as a guardian angel to workers doing the job he
once dreamed of doing.
``Letting go of Mike's possessions, I believe, is somehow
sending out the troops,'' Gioglio said. ``Maybe I bit off
more than Michael can chew, but we definitely have him on the
case.''
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