When the worst thing in the world has happened to you, what's the worst that can happen? For Ann O'Neill, it's certainly not public speaking.

"Public speaking is feared second only to death and I've ticked that one, so I've managed the public-speaking fear," she says.

When Ann was 24, her estranged husband broke into her Perth house and shot dead their two small children. He then shot Ann in the right leg — causing a wound that would lead to its amputation then killed himself.

In the 24 years since that unthinkable event in August 1994, Ann has rebuilt her life. She has a joyous home life and has established herself professionally as an expert in the field of working with victims of extreme trauma.

As Dr O'Neill, she regularly speaks publicly about the subject of trauma and about the organisation she founded in 2001, Angelhands.

In October, Ann was a keynote speaker at TEDxUWA in Perth on the theme of turning points.

The University of Western Australia theatre was hushed as she spoke.

"I quickly realised that if I did nothing, I would quickly drown," she told the audience.

In the past two decades, Ann, now 48, has helped thousands of people reeling in the wake of violent crime.

"She's been a beacon of light in some of my darkest hours," says family violence campaigner Rosie Batty, whose ex-partner murdered her son, Luke, in Melbourne in 2014.

Kyle was age six and Latisha age four when they died. ( Supplied: Ann O'Neill )

Those she's helped include members of the Margaret River community where, in May, a man is believed to have shot dead his wife, daughter and four grandchildren before killing himself.

Ann has visited the Margaret River community twice to hold sessions about hope and healing.

"She doesn't skirt around the issues at all," says Jonelle Fraser, a Margaret River local who knew some members of the deceased family.

"It's, 'Hi, I'm Ann. I'm really sorry that you need to meet me … the only reason I'm in your life is because something horrible has happened'."

Ann says she is often called on when no-one knows what to do.

"When the professionals have all left … we are called because people think, 'right, now life will go back to normal', and it doesn't."

For several communities in Western Australia particularly, things are unlikely ever to return to normal: 2018 has been a horrendous year for family violence incidents in the state.

In four months, WA counted 15 victims, nine of them children, making the casualties in the state this year from family violence among the highest on record.

"I just find it outrageous," Ann says.

"In lots of ways it feels like groundhog day … those statistics are almost the same as 1994."

Kyle O'Neill in 1994. That same year, Kyle and his sister Latisha were killed by their father. ( Supplied: Ann O'Neill )

The 'good bloke narrative'

In the early hours of August 22, 1994, Ann O'Neill was rushed to hospital.

"The pain she went through in hospital was horrendous. I can remember begging them, 'Give her some more painkillers, please'," friend Dawn Parker recalls.

Ann O'Neill pictured with her daughter, Latisha. ( Supplied: Ann O'Neill )

Ann says her estranged husband had been stalking her for months.

"He knew that she was going to live the rest of her life, not only maimed, but without her two children," Detective Senior Sergeant Peter de la Motte told Australian Story when it first profiled Ann in 2004.

Incredibly, in the wake of the murders, Ann had to deal with the fact that some people blamed her for what had happened.

"The biggest issue I had to grapple with was if a stranger had walked into my house that night and done what [he] had done, the whole world would have been outraged," Ann told Australian Story in 2004.

"Nobody would have blamed me in any way. But because it was their father, somehow I'd made him do it."

Ann's reply to those people was powerful.

"I'm responsible for breaking his heart perhaps, but I'm not responsible for putting that gun in his hand."

Fast-forward 24 years and Ann and women like her are still coming up against what Rosie Batty says is sometimes referred to as "the good-bloke narrative".

She says that, in situations such as Ann's, a calculated decision was made.

"When something like this happens … we try to seek to understand, so when we look for reasons, we're looking to excuse … I really think we need to understand, that's not a good bloke."

Ann's not-for-profit Angelhands is there to comfort victims of extreme trauma. ( Australian Story: Marcus Alborn )

Starting a new life

Ann O'Neill's resilience in the face of her unimaginable tragedy was driven by the need to make a difference.

"What I came to realise through my time in hospital and through all of the people, both professional and nonprofessional, was that nobody really knew what to do," she says. "I had no role in life left … so here's something that I can do to help others."

After she lost her children, Ann went back and finished high school, went on to university and got a social work degree, then won a scholarship to do a PhD. Her research looked at what support was available to people who had lost close family members to homicide.

"When you go and read the limited amount of research that existed, it said family, friends and community are by far the biggest support," she said.

Ann O'Neill returned to school and earned her PhD. ( Supplied: Ann O'Neill )

"But as I walked beside families, I realised that not all of that was necessarily helpful and I also wanted to understand what professionals could do to help more as well."

Hoping to fill the gap she had identified, Ann set up the not-for-profit Angelhands in her shed in 2001, initially as a website, to provide help for those suffering from extreme trauma.

Angelhands now has two offices, satellite clinics, and a team of about 25 volunteer counsellors help about 300 clients a year. Ann is currently its CEO.

She doesn't believe in the adage that time heals all.

"All grief is lifelong", she says. "You will never go back to the way it was, but we can make it so that there are ways to at least enjoy life, even if it isn't the same as what you envisioned it was going to be."

Ann is able to enjoy life at her WA property with her husband, Wayne, and their five-year-old son. ( Australian Story: Marcus Alborn )

While it was difficult for Ann to trust a man again, she has found love with her husband, Wayne Keady. ( Australian Story: Marcus Alborn )

Becoming a mother again

When she spoke to Australian Story in 2004, Ann O'Neill was single and not confident she wanted a serious relationship. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that in terms of trust, in terms of the complications it brings."

Some years later, her sister introduced her to Wayne Keady, a high school science teacher. Wayne knew of Ann's story.

"You form a picture in your head of what a person should look like after that happens and she was nothing like that," he remembers. "She was the most positive person I could remember ever meeting."

Ann was initially interested in Wayne because she thought she could recruit him as an Angelhands volunteer but eventually, as she grew to trust him, their relationship changed. The couple have since married and live on a property outside Perth.

And there would be more joy to come. Five years ago Ann gave birth to her third child, a boy. They called him AJ. "He's a fabulous individual, full of mischief and energy."

AJ is aware that he has a brother and a sister. Sometimes he asks if he can visit them in heaven. Wayne explains to him then that you don't get to visit heaven.

"It's not a sad thing. It's just a different thing. He celebrates his brother and sister."

Kyle and Latisha's memory will always live on. ( Australian Story: Marcus Alborn )

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