Bound by Tragedy : Separate Sorrows Over Loss of Mates Lead 2 O.C. Families to Forge New Lives Together

It was 2 a.m. on a December morning in 1988 when Kathy Mahoney finally placed a stamp on the letter that would alter life’s course for the young Irvine widow and her two little girls.

A few weeks later, Brian Killelea tackled the painful task of answering the pile of condolence mail that poured in after a drunk motorist ran down his wife, Debbie, in the alley behind their Balboa Peninsula home.

“What I want to tell you is that you will survive,” read Mahoney’s letter. “Someday you will be happy.”

It has been nearly five years since the haunting death of Debbie Killelea, but Brian says Mahoney’s heartfelt letter predicted the future: not only is he happy now, but he also married Mahoney in 1990.

The Killelea family is a ‘90s version of the 1968 comedy “Yours, Mine and Ours,” about a widow and widower who married and melded their families.

In fact, a friend gave a videotape of the movie to Brian, 44, and Kathy, 36, for a wedding gift shortly after they merged their two Irish-American families. Kathy had two kids, Brian had three, and they had one together 1 1/2 years ago.

“They’ve watched that movie so many times that they have it memorized,” Kathy said.

As they laugh and play on the manicured lawn of their new eight-bedroom home in the Westcliff neighborhood of Newport Beach, it’s hard to believe that this group has dealt with so much pain and grief in the last decade.

Like many storybook tales, this one has a tragic beginning, a painful middle and a happy ending. The chain of events began in 1985 with the sudden death of Kathy’s 31-year-old husband, Jim, of a brain aneurysm. Their 3-year-old daughter, Sarah, and 1-year-old daughter, Colleen, were in the house at the time. “We were changing for the day, and he grabbed his head and said, ‘Oh, my God,’ ” Kathy recalled.

When he went into the bathroom, she had to go downstairs to answer the doorbell, but returned after getting a “terrible feeling” that something was wrong.

“I’ve played this over a thousand times in my mind. I couldn’t get the bathroom door open, and when I went in, there was blood everywhere because he hit his head when he fell. It was like a horror movie.”

Three years later, Brian Killelea faced similar tragedy.

He came home after a game of tennis Sept. 1, 1988, to find his wife gravely injured, and his young boys screaming frantically. Michael, 10, and Joe, 6, had witnessed a scene that would later be televised nationally, for the last seconds of their mother’s life were captured on a videotape inadvertently shot by the passenger of the car that hit her.

Debbie Killelea was struck while walking with the boys to a neighbor’s house. As the car driven by 21-year-old Danny Ornelas approached, she motioned for it to slow down but was hit and hurled 50 feet into the air. The Huntington Park man had been drinking 151-proof rum with friends at the beach and was speeding at an estimated 45 m.p.h. in the 15 m.p.h. zone when the accident occurred.

Ornelas was originally convicted of grossly negligent vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to 10 years in prison, but an appellate court overturned the conviction on the grounds that the judge gave improper instructions to the jury before deliberations. He was convicted a second time of a lesser charge of vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated but was set free because he had already served the two-year sentence imposed by the judge.

Ornelas’ attorney, Ralph Bencangey, says his client is going to school and doesn’t want to discuss the tragedy.

“Nothing he says is going to change the way people feel about him,” said Bencangey, “so he’s chosen to remain anonymous.”

Although Brian says he forgives Ornelas in a spiritual sense, he doesn’t know if he can ever completely forgive the man who cursed at his wife of 15 years as she lay dying in the alley.

“If he would have shown initial remorse, that’s one thing,” he said. “But as intoxicated as one can get, to get out of the car and stare at her mangled body and (swear at her), I can’t deal with this guy in a forgiving and loving way.”

Kathy remembers how difficult it was to write the letter to Brian Killelea, for it brought back much of her own grief and sorrow.

“When I lost my husband, I’d never experienced that kind of pain,” she said, “It was so frightening.”

Kathy explained that she had received a letter from a widow who gave her hope when Jim died, and she felt the need to convey the same sentiment when she heard about Brian’s loss. So she wrote and wrote, finally finishing hours after midnight.

“It was a nice letter. It was nice to know that there was someone in the community who was going through the same thing,” Brian said about the note that remains in his desk drawer.

A mutual friend set them up on a blind date 10 months later, and, Brian says, he was instantly taken with her positive personality.

“I was looking at this person, and I thought, ‘how could anyone be so up?’ ”

Kathy had to depend on her upbeat personality to battle some tough times when she and Brian were engaged to be married, for being the new lady of this house wasn’t going to be easy. She was instantly adding three children to her family, the second trial was coming up, and she had to face a community of people who loved and admired the late Debbie Killelea.

“I never wanted to be looked at as a replacement,” Kathy said. “I’ve never tried to pick up where she left off because I’m a different person and a different mother. It’s like the house of Killelea fell when Debbie died, and now this is a new home and Brian and I are the foundation.”

Brian says he remains astonished by Kathy’s adjustment to a difficult and sometimes awkward set of circumstances.

“You have to realize what this woman did,” Brian said, “This whole thing reeked of sensationalism, and she stepped into a mousetrap of publicity. She did nothing to force the respect from the kids; it’s just the way she is with them. She loves them, and they love her.”

Kathy’s children feel the same way about their new father, and all of the kids now share the Killelea name in addition to the house they had custom-built on a quiet, residential street.

“He’s a real hands-on father, and I couldn’t do this without his help,” Kathy said.

Sweeping through the kitchen with matter-of-fact orders, “Don’t argue, just do it,” Kathy also proves to be a hands-on kind of mom. She says she has to be very well organized to manage six children with six different sets of activities--each color-coded on the calendar.

“I would go crazy if I didn’t have some sort of filing system,” she said.

Brian says the final melding of the Mahoney and Killelea clan came with the birth of baby Jack Killelea 18 months ago.

“If there was one event that united these two families, it was when Jack was born,” Brian said. “Had there been any negative feelings at all, they were laid to rest when he came.”

The Killelea children proudly display a picture of them crowding the Hoag Hospital delivery room 30 minutes after Jack’s birth. Now walking and “into everything,” the toddler reaches adoringly to whichever brother or sister happens by.

“He always has someone around to play with,” Kathy said.

Sitting in his Costa Mesa landscaping firm, Brian says the children seem well adjusted emotionally despite their bouts with tragedy in early childhood.

“I think they’re very healthy,” Brian said. “The biggest impact on their lives since the accident is Kathy. She has been a major positive impact.”

Michael, 15, has attended some psychotherapy sessions to deal with the trauma he witnessed five years ago but is concentrating these days on surfing and teen-age life at Newport Harbor High School. Joe, now 11, attends Our Lady Queen of Angels School in Corona del Mar, as do sisters Hillary, 12, Sarah, 11, and 9-year-old Colleen. Jack, approaching the “terrible twos,” is focusing on teething, feeding himself and drinking from a cup.

“To look at this family, you would never know that this tragedy ever happened,” Brian said. “Do I think we got dumped on? Yes I do . . . but we’re gradually getting better.”

Filled with despair after Debbie’s death, Brian said he wondered if his carefree smile would ever come back. As he steals a sideways glance at his wife and baby, Brian’s humble grin already gave it away--”It’s back,” he said.