Digital Extra: The Station Fire

Dedicated mother struggles with grief

04:46 PM EDT on Thursday, October 7, 2004

Journal photo / Bill Murphy

Anna Gruttadauria, mother of Pam Gruttadauria, the 100th victim of the Station Nightclub fire, stands next to a weeping cherry tree at her home in Johnston. The tree was given to her by the nurses and social workers at Mass General Hospital who cared for Pam.

Anna Gruttadauria wanted to show me the tree planted in her daughter's memory. It's a weeping cherry in her front yard given to her by the nurses at Massachusetts General Hospital. That's where Pam spent two and half months after the Station Nightclub fire.

She was so badly burned she never regained consciousness, but the nurses feel like they knew her. Pam was the 100th fire victim. She died May 4, 2003. Her mother still remembers the time. It was 10:39 p.m. Pam was 33.

In the side yard, Anna pointed out a 2-foot-tall cross made out of Corian. "In memory of Pamela Gruttadauria," it says. The cross is purple. That was Pam's favorite color. Anna still keeps Pam's purple Geo Tracker in the driveway.

It has now been a year and five months since the fire. Last Saturday, there was a special dedication at the memorial garden to the victims at St. Ann's Cemetery. Twenty gravesites were reserved at the garden for those who died. Seven families chose to lay their loved ones to rest there. Pam Gruttadauria is among them.

Her mother Anna is 60. I met her at the small Johnston home she and her husband shared with Pam. Their daughter came back to live with them after she broke up with a longtime boyfriend. For several years, the three had a comfortable routine. Pam worked at the Holiday Inn Express in Warwick overseeing breakfast. She had to be there a little after 5 a.m. Her dad, Joe, a plumber, would always wake her.

Anna was -- still is -- a supervisor at the Johnston town library. She says work helps her cope. She also likes the way people who come into the library talk to her about Pam. She feels it helps keep her daughter alive.

Some even told Anna that they dreamt about Pam. Anna smiles and says that left her a little miffed, and she decided to talk to Pam about it. "Pam," Anna said while driving alone in her car, "you visit everyone in their dreams except your mother. When are you going to come visit me?"

That was last June. A few months later, in August, it happened. In one of Anna's dreams, Pam walked through the kitchen door and announced she was home again. It was very realistic. Anna believes that if you have a vivid dream about a departed loved one, it means their spirit is watching over you. It has given her some peace; or at least as much as she can hope for.

She and her husband, Joe, arrived at St. Ann's Cemetery around 11:45 a.m. last Saturday. She knew how to get to the memorial garden since she visits Pam every weekend, and sometimes, on Tuesdays, her day off. It's toward the back, near the chapel.

It had just gotten a new centerpiece -- a 13-foot-tall stone-carved angel, and Saturday was the dedication. Bishop Robert Mulvee was there, as were several photographers to record the event.

ANNA PAUSED by her daughter's grave. It's a flat stone, flush to the ground, with Pam's name on it, and the words, "In God's loving care." As happens often, she found herself thinking, "I can't believe I'm visiting her here."

Everyone had told Anna that, when a year passes, it would get easier, but it hasn't. If anything, it's harder. She keeps waiting for the hole to heal, but it doesn't.

Anna went into the chapel for the Mass. A few dozen others were there. Bishop Mulvee dedicated the Mass to the fire victims, and their families. Afterward, he led a procession to the memorial garden.

Everyone stood by the graves of their loved ones as Bishop Mulvee spoke about the new angel. It weighs two tons and was donated by A. Sciolta Monuments of Cranston. It was carved in Italy. The memorial garden itself was given by the Roman Catholic Diocese of Providence, which owns St. Ann's.

Anna felt the angel had a beautiful face. She liked the way it looked down upon the graves. Anna feels this is where Pam belongs, with other victims. She feels they went through it together, and now will always have each other.

By the time Bishop Mulvee was done, many family members were crying. Anna was crying, too. It happens a fair amount, though usually when she is alone. Sometimes, it will be when a song comes on her car radio. At home, she'll occasionally take out a photo album, but has yet to get through all the pages. Looking at the pictures makes Anna break down.

Neither can she yet bring herself to sift through Pam's clothes.

In public, though, Anna tries to be strong. She feels Pam would want her to be.

Anna likes to stay in touch with other Station family members. A few weeks ago, she called Ann Shubert, whose son Mitchell was the 99th victim.

Ann Shubert lives in Gainesville, Florida. Her son was visiting friends in Rhode Island when he was caught in the fire. He was 39. Next to Pam, Mitchell hung on the longest before dying. He survived two weeks. Pam survived two and a half months.

Anna and Ann saw each other almost every day in Massachusetts General Hospital during those two weeks. They've remained friends since.

Anna was prompted to call because of the hurricanes, and was glad to hear that Ann Shubert's home had survived. Then they asked how the other was doing.

Ann Shubert spoke of how much she missed her son. "I have my good days and my very bad days," she said.

Anna Gruttadauria said she understood. "I miss my daughter the same way."

BOTH MOTHERS feel some solace in having been at the bedside of their children at the end. They know most other Station fire families didn't have that.

But Anna does have a pang about not having been with her daughter for the first two days. Because burns made Pam almost unrecognizable, she was a Jane Doe at Mass General for 48 hours. She was the last one identified.

Anna never learned exactly what happened to Pam in the fire. She went to The Station that night with five friends. Two survived.

One later said the group at first headed for the stage door exit, but a bouncer said it was reserved for the band. Then they got separated in the dark and smoke. Anna has never been able to find out if Pam made it outside, or was found by rescuers still inside. That makes things a little harder for Anna today. When you lose a child, she says, you want to know as much as you can.

Not long ago, some library visitors told Anna of a friend of theirs named SuS Longiaru who lost her son John in the fire. John was 23. Two days ago, around noon on Tuesday, the two mothers met at Luigi's on Hartford Avenue. It's one of Anna's favorite places. They ended up talking for over two hours. Anna says it's how many of them continue to cope -- finding each other, and sharing in ways only they can understand.

After the lunch, Anna was convinced Pam somehow had a hand in her meeting Mrs. Longiaru. After getting back into her car, Anna said out loud, "Pam, I know you're trying to keep me busy. Well, you're doing a good job of it."

THIS SATURDAY, as she does every Saturday, Anna Gruttadauria plans to visit her daughter at the memorial garden at St. Ann's. She'll probably go around noon and take her grandchildren: Samantha, 10, and Austin, 9. They still call her "Auntie Pam."

"Samantha is a clone of my daughter," Anna says. She has the same long dark hair, but mostly, it's her mannerisms, and outlook. Samantha is strong-willed like her aunt. There's no changing her mind, as there was no changing Pam's.

Anna Gruttadauria plans to bring flowers on the visit. She feels it's time to redecorate Pam's grave for autumn.

She'll bring a mix of silk fall flowers. The dominant color, of course, will be purple.

She knows her daughter will like that.

Mark Patinkin can be reached at mpatinkin [at] projo.com.