Killorglin murder funerals: ‘There was two of us left. Now it’s just me’
The countryside is green and lush. The accents of many of Jolanta Lubiene’s family are rich, rolling Kerry.
All four brothers and two sisters have worked there over the past decade — starting with the eldest boy, Arvyeas Santa, who spent five years in Glenbeigh with his wife Valdone.
The others followed him, one by one, working mostly in butchers and Supervalu in Killorglin. “There was two of us left, Jolanta and me. Now it’s just me,” says her sister, Kristina Kuleviciené.
She and her husband Vaidus have settled in Milltown. Their first child was born in Lithuania — but their 3-year-old son is an Irishman, they say with a laugh, dissipating the gloom.
It’s just for a moment, though, as all thoughts and plans lead back to Jolanta and little Enrika. They see Ireland as their home. Vaidus loves his job in Ash’s Butchers in Killarney and Kristina hopes to take up a new job with Bourke’s in Killorglin.
But Jolanta had boxes packed and was making final arrangements to return home, her plane tickets bought and paid for, to travel on Monday, Jul 15.
Her husband Marius, a childhood sweetheart from the same village, moved from Kerry to Sweden to work six months ago. She was to visit him for a few weeks’ holiday with their blonde-haired daughter before returning to Lithuania to help her mother and her father, who is suffering from cancer.
Enrika spent three years in school in Ireland and was to start in a new school in the main regional town of Telsiai in the autumn.
Instead, mother and daughter were waked in Jolanta’s old school in Gedrimai, now turned into a village hall.
Just as the community rallied to the tragedy-stricken family in Kerry, their neighbours in Gedrimai did likewise, filling the hall with flowers, preparing sandwiches and cakes for visitors, making tea, spending the night with the family.
“There are fancy funeral homes in Telsiai, but we have this nice big hall and it is full of flowers now. It looks beautiful — not like a funeral home at all,” says Kristina.
The sisters were close. “We always kept in touch,” Kristina said. “I should have a lot more times, but you have families and you are just working and living and doing your own thing — you never think. If I knew...” she says, with the rest lost in tears. The regrets of the bereaved.
And no, she will never forget the phonecall from Jolanta’s husband and going to the Garda station. It was a Sunday night. She went to Jolanta’s house on Sunday, Jun 16, and was met by gardaí: “I was in panic. ‘What’s happening? What’s happening?’ But you never think that that could happen.”
Then the questions started. “Everyone rang, asking ‘what’s happening?’ I was shocked. I could say nothing.” Kristina is still in shock — “it’s only three weeks ago”, she reminds herself.
They decided not to tell their parents until the following day. They are still young — her mother is 54, and her father is 56 but very ill. “They are strong. He is so strong. I can’t believe it,” says Kristina.
They are devastated over losing a daughter and one of their nine grandchildren. “They are so sad. So sad. Your kids — you don’t expect,” Kristina whispers.
She won’t speak about what happened to her younger sister and niece, their bodies ripped with knife wounds in their house at Langford Downs. “Nobody knows why. We might never know. Maybe only God knows,” Kristina says.
Kristina, her husband, and their two children will return to Kerry, where they have put down roots and made a life for themselves.
“My mum is scared [about] us going back, but it could have happened to anyone, anywhere.”
They have friends there too, and were overwhelmed by the help and support following the tragedy. “I am so thankful to everyone that has helped my family,” Kristina says. “We can’t tell you,” she adds.
