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Kevin Mulhere

Therapy in Talk by Elysse James (The OC Register)

TUSTIN It’s a sad, familiar, powerful story.

And Gil and Flo Mulhere tell it like this:

In 2002, Gil Mulhere got a 1 a.m. phone call from his son, Kevin, who said he’d been in a car accident. Gil rushed from his Coto de Caza home to find that Kevin had crashed his Ford Explorer into a tree. When he looked at the vehicle, Gil noted that it was crushed about two feet behind the driver’s seat. Kevin, then 20, had narrowly escaped death.

Initially, Kevin told his parents he had fallen asleep at the wheel. Later, he admitted he had taken the drug GHB.

Kevin, who had left home at 18 and was already working as a mortgage broker, was sentenced to 60 days in jail, three years probation and mandatory drug and alcohol counseling.

It didn’t take.

“Our son Kevin was a great kid,” said his mother, Flo Mulhere.

Then she adds another sad, inevitable truth: “He struggled with the decisions he’d made. He went to rehab and came out and relapsed.”

Kevin talked to his parents regularly, chatting about his day, his job, his plans. Kevin also was close to his brother, Tim, a Marine.

“We had one son battling a war overseas and one battling a war in his mind,” Flo said.

The day before Tim left for Iraq, in early February, 2003, the family came together. The next night, Kevin went to a friend’s house party. On Sunday, Feb. 2, 2003, Kevin was found dead. He was 21.

“He tried so hard to beat the addiction,” Gil said.

And that’s the part of the story that’s still hard to tell.

Still, they tell it whenever possible.

•••

For months after Kevin’s death, Flo Mulhere spent most of her time in bed.

The Mulheres tried to find solace by meeting with other grieving parents. They joined a survivor’s support group in Tustin and attended a few meetings. But none of the other parents in that group had lost a child to drug or alcohol problems, and the Mulheres say they didn’t feel a connection.

But they had a friend, David Hungerford, who understood. He had lost his daughter, Shanon, to drug addiction a year after Kevin died. Hungerford started a foundation in his daughter’s name to raise money for groups that provide drug and alcohol education and treatment.

At one of Hungerford’s fundraisers, Gil and Flo were introduced to a social worker, Margie Diaz, then with the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence. Her group was searching for speakers – parents like the Mulheres – to share their experiences.

Gil and Flo were already accustomed to speaking in front of groups. As part of his job, Gil had done presentations and public speaking. And Flo was a special needs teacher, used to being in front of a classroom.

But, at the time, talking about Kevin was a different kind of experience; more painful, more intense. Sharing the facts of Kevin’s death was very difficult, Gil said. At times, they were overcome with sadness.

Still, five months later, they took the plunge. Flo spoke to about 30 men at Pacific Hills Treatment Center, the same rehabilitation center that Kevin had gone through. Sharing his story was tough, she says.

But, at that event, Flo saw something – how Kevin’s story affected the men. That, in turn, sparked her to keep talking.

“Life has different turns to it,” Gil Mulhere said. “But we do channel our loss into something positive.”

•••

Before he died, Kevin had started talking with friends about his situation. The Mulheres said he helped some of his friends stop using drugs.

They certainly know enough, now, about the power of sharing a story.

When Diaz’ contract ended with the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence ended, the social worker joined the Boys & Girls Clubs of Tustin. Then, working with Diaz, the Mulheres and Hungerford formed a nonprofit, California Youth Services, which in 2005 partnered with the Boys & Girls Clubs of Tustin.

Through California Youth Services, the Mulheres and Hunderford created school-based programs for struggling children and teens. Their organization works with police agencies to create programs for probation and incarcerated youth.

And, critically, it allows the Mulheres to share Kevin’s story with kids and parents and teachers and anybody who will listen. Diaz believes that by sharing Kevin’s story, the Mulheres are giving meaning to their son’s name and his life.

“If you make it personal, it’s more likely to help,” Diaz said of the power of sharing stories such as Kevin’s.

She adds this: “Speaking is almost like a self-healing. You can say you survived… You’ll never get over it, but you can get through it.”

Lucy Heyliger lost her 15-year-old son a year ago in September. He would have been a sophomore at Tustin High School. Heyliger sat in recently as Flo Mulhere spoke to students at Irvine High School.

“It’s her talking, and how I feel,” Heyliger said.

“Sometimes I feel like nobody understands us. It’s like we’re all alone.”

The speakers at California Youth Services have formed their own type of support group, helping each other by sharing their experiences.

“But you do have anger about it, and always guilt,” Gil Mulhere said.

“It does come out in tears. It’s very emotional to say it and see the reaction. It’s always hard to talk about.”

•••

Gil and Flo Mulhere stand in a classroom full of teenagers.

A photo of their son, Kevin, at 18 months, is projected larger-than-life on a screen. Then a photo of Kevin at age 21 pops up.

“I’m not here to make you feel sorry for me, and I’m not here to lecture you,” Flo Mulhere tells the students.

Tears well in her eyes as she shares her story. Most of the students are captivated. A few doodle on notebook paper.

Flo Mulhere has a story she shares. A man walking along the beach notices someone bending down and flinging starfish into the ocean. He walks up and asks, “What are you doing?” The man says, “Do you see these starfish? It’s low tide, and without water the starfish will die.”

The two glance down the beach at miles and miles of stranded starfish. “You’ll never make a difference, there’s too many of them.”

The man bends down and picks up a starfish, flinging it into the ocean.

“I made a difference for that one,” he says.