J.T. Bikul and Tara Barron, friends of Nicole Miller, attend the West Valley memorial ceremony Sept 19.
Mourning Glory
In the days following her death, Nicole Miller's family struggles to grieve while honoring her memory
By Oakley Brooks
Photographs by Paul Myers
In the midst of a living room lined with cards and flowers and pictures of the late Nicole Miller, young Wayne Stefani, her half-brother, has managed to flip the channel to a hunting show on ESPN. For nearly a week, the family's big-screen television set has chronicled a feverish and gray new world, one in which the Stefanis became central figures when they lost Nicole, a 21-year-old West Valley student, on United flight 93 on Sept. 11.
Miller's mother, Cathy Stefani, has been open to waves of TV cameras and news reporters entering her San Jose home. "I wanted people to know Nicole," she says. The news is still the last thing she watches before she goes to bed and the first thing she turns to when she wakes up. Family and friends have been unrelenting in their support, says Cathy, warming the house until midnight most evenings.
In a minute, she says she'll flip the channel back to CNN. But for the moment, there's a respite in the steady stream of news into the living room.
"I'm completely numb," she says. "Time is just not real. It feels like it's been just a few days. The thing that keeps me going is to know that she did not die in vain. Flight 93, they're being called heroes."
Cathy Stefani, mother of Nicole Miller, with Wayne Stefani, Nicole's brother, reads letters of support sent by friends and family.
It was news voices that woke Cathy up just before dawn on Sept. 11. The World Trade Center towers had been attacked. She headed for the living room, and the television confirmed the reports with gruesome images. Later, reports surfaced of a plane that had crashed on its way from Newark to San Francisco.
Miller was returning to the Bay Area that morning from a weekend trip to the New York area, her first trip ever to the East Coast.
Cathy's first call to United brought relief: Miller wasn't on the ill-fated Flight 93. Then United called her back with news that Miller was indeed on 93.
"The one time she goes," says Cathy, "It's hers that went down."
Cathy Stefani and Miller had deliberated on Sept 5 about whether Miller should head back to the East Coast, where her boyfriend, Ryan Brown, 21, was on a family visit. Stefani wondered about Miller missing classes at West Valley, but her daughter made arrangements with teachers and headed east to meet Brown the next day.
Miller called Stefani each day during her trip. But Monday night her flight back to the Bay Area was canceled due to weather. Miller re-booked on a flight the next morning, leaving Newark at the same time as Brown.
Brown was the last to talk to Miller, and just before they took off, he says that their planes were side by side on the runway.
A memorial service at West Valley College Sept. 19 was dedicated to Mark Bingham, whose mother attends the school, and Nicole Miller, who was also a student.
They had just finished a breathless tour of Atlantic City, central New Jersey and New York City. Brown says they rented a Ford Mustang and put 1,200 miles on the car over the long weekend. On the Jersey Shore, the couple stayed in Brown's grandmother's beach house. In New York, they visited Times Square and Broadway.
"She was so excited, like a little kid," Brown says. "I'd stop to tie my shoes and she'd be all the way up the street."
In the six years since they first met at Pioneer High School in San Jose, the two had built their lives completely around each other.
"They were the male and female version of each other, both messy, both stubborn," says Brown's Los Gatos roommate, Mike Gill.
Both were workout junkies, spending many hours a week at The Right Stuff in Campbell. Brown sold software until recently, took some classes at West Valley and joined the Marine Corps Reserves; she was on the dean's list at West Valley and worked at Chili's in San Jose.
Brown says that Miller was considering a career in nutrition or physical training, and she was weighing a transfer to California State University, Chico or San Jose State University. Brown says they'd talked of getting married.
On the Stefanis' back patio last week, Brown flipped through stacks of pictures of Miller and himself. There were some from the high school prom, some of Miller on the Atlantic City boardwalk. Others of Miller in a glitzy cocktail dress next to Brown, decked out in his Marine Corps dress togs. A Reserve Corps friend, J.T. Bikul, helped Brown gather some photos for a collage. "This is the most femme thing I do," the burly Bikul quipped, drawing a slight grin from Brown.
Following her death, Nicole Miller's family and friends have pored over old pictures, including these taken for her senior portrait.
After four days of being stranded by a flight moratorium, Brown returned to the Bay Area to a groundswell of support from friends who won't leave him alone. But his roommate, Gill, says it's tough keeping Brown distracted. MTV plays love songs. And on every other channel discussions of terrorist attacks bring back a helpless feeling in Brown that he wasn't there to protect Miller.
"I feel like a part of me has been ripped out," Brown says.
Last Wednesday, Heidi Barnes, 20, a friend of Miller's dating back to eighth grade, sat with her backpack strapped on outside West Valley's Campus Center. She'd just gathered there with an estimated 500 other students and community members to honor Miller and Mark Bingham, son of part-time West Valley student Alice Hoglan.
"At least [Brown] got to say goodbye and tell her how he felt about her," says Heidi Barnes.
Barnes had also just concluded her first day of classes since Sept. 11. In Interpersonal Communication that morning, her instructor had told students to take care of themselves through moderate eating and regular sleep.
"I've stuffed my face," Barnes says. "I've stayed up till six."
Cathy Stefani (left) is comforted by Marchelle Fox, the president of West Valley College, at a memorial service on campus Sept 19.
Miller and Barnes grew up around the corner from each other. While at Pioneer, they spent countless nights at each other's houses--Barnes' parents bent the curfew rules when Barnes stayed at Miller's place and vice versa. Cathy Stefani would sign Barnes' birthday cards, "Your Second Mom."
Miller taught Barnes to love country music, though Barnes swore she wouldn't convert. She took Barnes line dancing and introduced her to people who are now Barnes' closest friends.
And Barnes was there when Miller first developed a soft spot for Brown.
"We shared the first of everything together," says Barnes.
Barnes has taped every minute of local television featuring her friend, gathering the clips as she used to collect letters and drawings from Miller.
"Part of me is proud to see her on there. This is her moment of fame," Barnes says. "But whenever I start to feel better, it comes on television again."
Ryan Brown (left) was Nicole Miller's boyfriend of six years. He and J.T. Bikul look through photographs to make a memorial collage for Nicole's friends.
Last week, Barnes was preparing to write a speech for Miller's memorial service set for Sept. 22 at South Valley Christian Church in Morgan Hill. Both Miller's father, David, and her sister, Tiffney, 23, of Chico, were expected to be there.
The thought of condensing Miller's life into minutes for the service was daunting to Barnes.
"I can't put the love I had for her on paper," she says.
But at the end of a disintegrating week, Barnes and others close to Miller, running on sheer instinct, somehow held fast to a bright soul.
"She once wrote to me, 'friends for life,'" Barnes says. "What if life's too short? So we're friends for eternity."
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