17 Years of Love, a Lifetime of Light
Before We Lost Him
Prior to my loss, if you had asked me, I would’ve considered my family perfect. My family consisted of my mom, dad, and older sister Jordyn. We were super close, doing everything together, and my parents did everything in their power to make any dream my sister and I had come true. We valued family time, prioritizing simple things like eating dinner together.
My sister and I played travel sports, and my family sacrificed a lot of time and money for us. Through many unwanted job changes, one thing about my dad never changed – he just wanted to give his three girls the world. He would work overtime so we could go to an extra college camp or experience something new, even when it meant he would miss out on being there for it. That’s just the kind of guy he was. /
My dad loved hunting, fishing, and simply just being out in nature. ?about how excited he’d get to show me a buck he got on camera. No one was more dedicated than him.
If you knew my dad, you also knew that he was the biggest Chicago Bears fan and would cheer for any team – except the Packers. He was such a die-hard fan that I was even named after the iconic Walter Payton. No matter how many losing seasons they had, my dad never stopped loving them. I always joked that I wished he had picked a team that won a little more.
Even more than the Bears, my dad was the biggest fan of watching my sister and I play sports growing up. He didn’t know softball as well as we did, so to him, everything we did was great. I’m not kidding – I’d strike out and make errors and he’d still tell me how amazing I played. Sometimes his over-positivity annoyed us, but looking back, I think everyone needs a hype man like he was for us. Good game or bad, I can still hear him saying, “I’m so proud of you” to this day. No matter if he was watching in person or on Gamechanger, he cheered just as loud and proud. Some of my favorite things now are looking back at the good luck, congratulatory, motivational, and uplifting texts that helped me through the dreaded recruiting process.
My dad was always cracking jokes and making those around him laugh. He could give a good joke and take one too. If I was feeling down, he was the person I’d go to. He just had a way of lighting up any room he walked into with his infectious smile, contagious laugh, and positive spirit. That was one of my favorite things about him.
With my dad, there were no bad days. He was so full of life and got excited about the little things. He was the most selfless person I knew and would give the shirt off his back to anyone, always with a smile. No matter what, he was always willing and happy to lend a hand.
My dad had a special ability to connect with both people and animals. Everything he came across loved him, and he loved them right back. The bond between my dad and my dog, Summitt, was indescribable – he was truly Summitt’s favorite human. I only wish I could see their reunion in Heaven one day.
He never got embarrassed and was such a good girl dad. I’ll never forget when I asked him which rung he could jump to on the monkey bars. He decided to show me, fell, and skinned up his face really badly. He had a job interview the next day and couldn’t have cared less. This moment perfectly sums up his, “anything for you” personality.
Above all, my dad was a family man. He absolutely adored my mom, and there was never a doubt how much he loved my sister and me. He was so proud to be our dad. People always told us he never stopped talking about his girls – he loved to show us off. He found ways to be present even when he couldn’t be physically. I don’t think he’ll ever truly realize how much I looked up to him. He set the bar so high for what a man should be. We shared such a special bond, and I couldn’t have asked for a better dad.
Life After the Knock
Christmas night, I hugged my dad, thanked him for my gifts, and told him I loved him before going to bed. If I had known that would be my last time, I would’ve never let go. My life drastically changed on December 26, 2018, when my dad passed away unexpectedly. I was 17 at the time, and it was by far the worst day of my life. I’ll never forget the cops knocking on our door and the exact location I was standing at in my dining room when they told us he passed away. I fell to the floor and sobbed. This visual played like an endless, scary movie in my head, day and night, for years. I can still picture going upstairs and seeing the opened Christmas presents sitting under the tree, knowing they would never be used. It was heartbreaking. I never thought you could feel “heartbreak,” but after losing my dad, my heart physically hurt. I was so sad. My desk calendar that day read, “Whatever happens, God’s behind you. He’s got your back, and He is taking care of you.” I couldn’t help but think that Dad didn’t leave us without making sure we would be okay.
In the days that followed, we were overwhelmed with love and support from family, friends, and even strangers. A positive in loss is how it brings people together. My sister isolated herself, while I tried to stay with the visitors, and my mom grappled with how she could go on without her husband, how we would manage financially, and how she would handle being both a mother and father figure to us. Eventually, my sister went back to college, and I went back to high school. It’s hard that after loss, life just goes on – because it has to. My life was the same, yet so different at the same time. We still lived in the same house, but now it felt, and was, so empty. Being in the same place he once was brought me so much pain.
Now for the stuff I really don’t like admitting. For the first year, I slept in my mom’s bed with her in the living room. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in my own room, but I also couldn’t bear to sleep in the room where he just was – it was too hard. I was afraid of losing her too and felt like this gave me a sense of control. Even now, I struggle with a fear of abandonment, constantly wondering who will leave me next – whether it’s family, friends, or relationships.
Through this loss, I suddenly felt numb. I used to be an emotional person, but now I couldn’t even force myself to cry. I would get mad at myself because I was so sad, loved him so much, and missed him deeply, yet I couldn’t understand why my body didn’t express that sadness. My emotions still haven’t fully returned, and it takes a lot for me to cry even today. For a while, I felt like I lost my purpose, but I quickly turned his loss into motivation to live for him and make him proud, because I knew that’s what he’d want me to do. He wouldn’t want me to be sad or give up on my dreams. I knew he wanted us to be happy, even without him there. So, I forced myself to be extra busy to distract myself from my reality and disassociate from my grief. I knew the only way I could function was to literally think about anything other than losing him. It was exhausting, but that’s how I got through.
I’ll never forget putting on a brave face and going to a college softball camp just 17 days after my dad passed away. I had been invited by the coach months before, and this was a huge opportunity at a DI school, where they were deciding between me and a few other recruits to fill out their class. I loved that no one knew what I was going through that day, but part of me also wished someone understood the weight I was carrying while trying to put on my best game face and perform well. I still feel that same way every day. You don’t want extra handouts or to be treated like you’re wrapped in bubble wrap, and you don’t want anyone to feel sorry for you, but sometimes, you wish people could understand what you’ve been through and are still going through. I wasn’t fully myself, but I don’t think you ever truly get to being that ever again after a loss. A part of you is always changed.
When my sister went back to college, I felt like I had to be the strong one. Seeing my mom in so much pain was hard to watch. I was the only one experiencing it day in and day out. I didn’t want to be another burden to her, so I masked my feelings and put on a brave face for a long time. I’m also the kind of person who wants everyone to be happy, so I tend to put on a happy face no matter what — it’s easier than explaining how I’m really feeling.
When it was my turn to leave for college, I felt immense guilt, knowing I was leaving her still deeply broken. But I’m proud of myself for following my heart and sticking to my plan of going out of state to play college softball. Leaving her alone was hard, and I knew it was painful for her, too, but I also knew she would’ve been even more upset if I had put my dreams on hold to stay home for her. I always knew I’d go out of state for college, but I always assumed she’d have my dad. This was a scenario I never envisioned myself having to face.
I know my college experience would’ve gone a completely different way if it weren’t for my loss. After my freshman season, I decided to take a leap of faith and go play softball down in Florida. Normally, I didn’t take risks, but my dad inspired me to just go for it because, deep down, it had always been a dream of mine. He reminded me that life is too short and to do what I want, even if it’s not what others think I should do. This perspective stuck with me so much that I had the words “Do it for you” stitched on my glove my junior year. It’s a quote he had texted me, and one I’ve been trying to live by ever since. It reminds me to do what makes me happy and know that it’s okay to move on when something or someone isn’t serving me. My loss taught me to take control and get in the driver’s seat of my life.
Not only did my experience change, but my perspective did as well. Suddenly, the things that once meant everything to me didn’t hold as much weight. I used to base my identity on softball and would sweat the small stuff, but after he passed, my perspective completely shifted. I learned there was more to life than softball and it really was “just a game”. I began to appreciate the opportunity more and stopped placing so much weight on the outcome.
This mentality was sometimes difficult to maintain when I was playing in these highly competitive environments. It was hard to watch others get so upset over a game or mistake, when in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. Sure, losing a game wasn’t fun, but nothing compares to losing someone you love. I hate that it took me so long to learn this, but I’m a firm believer that there’s always something good that can come out of something bad. I try to carry this perspective into all aspects of my life.
It was also a powerful reminder that your legacy goes far beyond the stat book. No one will remember the plays you made on the field, but they will remember how you made them feel. I can only hope I left a little bit of this perspective with those I met along the way, because in doing so, I too, made a difference.
A Life He Didn’t Get to Live with Me
I feel like I lost my dad at such a pivotal age. What makes me the saddest are all the big life moments he has missed and will continue to miss. In the years since he’s been gone, he’s missed me turning 18, going to prom, committing and signing to play college softball, graduating high school, hitting my first collegiate home run (there’s no way he wasn’t helping me or on my bat in some way — I wasn’t one to hit these), making it to the World Series, transferring to a school in Florida, turning 21, playing Division I ball at my mom’s alma mater, graduating college, getting my first teaching job – the list goes on and on. These moments were special, but I know they would’ve been even better with him here.
And it’s not just the good stuff I wish he could have been a part of – it’s the tough times too. There were a lot of challenging things I’ve had to navigate since his passing, and I would’ve loved his advice and perspective during those moments. He always knew the right thing to say and had my best interests at heart.
It breaks my heart to hear the sweet father-daughter wedding songs, knowing I’ll never get to have that with him or see my dad meet the man I will marry one day – and vice versa. On top of that, my kids will never get to meet their grandpa. I not only miss him for the big moments, but also the little ones, like being able to text him. I’ll never forget the first time I went to text him that I made it safely after a long road trip, only to realize he wouldn’t get the message. That gut-wrenching moment still sticks with me. Although I know he has the best seat in the house up in Heaven, it’s still so hard to not see him physically through all of life’s ups and downs.
I just know he would be freaking out at all of these milestones in the best way, celebrating each step of these transformative years of my life. Although I lost him at an age where I don’t necessarily “need him” anymore, I can’t help but feel like I was robbed at times, losing him so early. Still, I wouldn’t trade my 17 years with him for more time with anyone else.
From Book to Breakthrough: How CZC Changed My Life
I feel like the way I came across Comfort Zone Camps is pretty unique and special. A few years ago, my mom and I were at my favorite thrift store when I came across Lynne’s book, You Are Not Alone: Teens Talk About Life After the Loss of a Parent. The book was on sale for 50 cents. There’s so many books out there dealing with death, but I had never seen one from the perspective I was dealt: a teen who’s lost a parent. So, I picked it up and thought that it could be helpful and if anything, it was only 50 cents. I took the book home and put it on my shelf, not really doing anything with it for years.
Once I finally started reading it, I had a hard time putting it down. It was so relatable and even though I wasn’t a teen anymore, I still felt so heard. I loved the book so much that when I got to the back and saw the part about CZC, I wanted to learn more about this organization. Volunteering is a huge passion of mine, and when I saw I could help kids through their loss I was extremely interested. However, I was still playing college softball and life was very busy, so none of the camp dates worked out. But when I was nearing graduation in 2024, I decided to look again, and this time, I saw that the Young Adult Retreat fit in my schedule. At first, I had never thought about attending a camp for myself, only to help others. But I thought maybe this could be something good for me and I went ahead and applied even though it was extremely out of my comfort zone.
In the weeks leading up to camp, so much was happening in my life that I honestly didn’t want to go — I was overwhelmed with everything going on, from graduation and the holidays to moving and starting a new job. But amidst all the chaos, I realized it was probably something I needed, even though I didn’t fully understand why yet.
My phone conversations with Becky made CZC sound incredible, but I still couldn’t believe it could be as good as it sounded. A nonprofit camp, free of charge, with people I’d never met picking me up at the airport? It seemed almost too perfect, to the point where I joked that they were probably going to kidnap me! But from the moment I got off the plane, I was literally welcomed with open arms by Lynne and Kelly. They immediately made me feel comfortable and showed a genuine interest in getting to know me as a person, not just someone carrying grief. I knew this would help me feel comfortable to open up later at camp. We bonded over life, and I’ll forever cherish that first ride together.
When I first arrived at camp, I was definitely nervous since many people there seemed to know each other from past camps. But once we started doing something athletic, like playing four-square, the familiar comfort of sports helped ease my nerves and allowed me to loosen up and enjoy the moment. Everything about Comfort Zone Camps sounded too good to be true, but it turns out it was better than I could’ve imagined. Camp was the perfect mix of relationship building, competition, and connection. It wasn’t just sad all the time; you were disconnected from the outside world and could focus fully on yourself and others, which felt incredibly healing. The atmosphere that’s created here is truly indescribable.
The healing circles were one of the most powerful experiences of my life. They were primarily led by us as young adults, giving each of us the platform to share our stories if we chose to, while also taking the time to truly listen and reflect on each other’s experiences. Nothing felt rushed and no one pressured you into sharing if you didn’t want to. I was placed in a group with some of the strongest, kind-hearted, wise, and warm people I’ve ever met. One thing Lynne said stuck with me was that we, as people who’ve been through trauma, should be the ones to help others because we’ve lived it. I couldn’t agree more. I think when you lose someone so young, you’re forced to grow up much faster. This was so clear in how mature and wise my peers were. Hearing their stories was incredibly inspiring. It showed me their strength, perseverance, and how they’re still doing amazing things despite everything they’ve been through. I left feeling so honored to have been trusted with their stories. I still think about and pray for the people in my circle to this day.
CZC changed my life in so many ways, but Saturday was when I had my biggest breakthrough in my grief journey. I’ll never forget the moment after someone shared their story in the healing circle that I had this moment when I thought to myself, “When I go home, I’m going to share my story with at least one person”. It hit me right then how much progress this camp helped me make, especially since I hadn’t shared my story with anyone in six years, and now, I actually wanted to tell someone. Besides my very close friends from high school who just happened to be there during this time, I hadn’t shared my full story with anyone else. I’ve kept most of it bottled inside ever since. What made it even more amazing was that I hadn’t even shared my story at camp yet and I came to this realization. I was honestly just absorbing everything everyone was saying, taking it all in. But I knew I had to share – I promised myself that. I told myself going into the weekend that if I was given this incredible opportunity, I was going to pour everything into it and tell my story. The fact that I felt inclined to share was another huge step for me, especially since I had tried therapy before, and it didn’t work for me. At therapy, I felt like I had to lead the conversation, and I didn’t know how. I thought CZC might be the same way, but it was completely the opposite. There was no pressure which made me want to share my story.
The thing is, I hadn’t thought about my loss deeply in such a long time. I struggle letting people in and showing that, beneath the happy surface, I have been through something so painful. But I knew that sharing my story was a necessary step in my healing process. You can ask my sweet roommate, Sarah – I spent most of Saturday night writing down my story, making sure I didn’t forget anything. It was important to me that I shared everything in the right order, in a way that made sense to everyone, with the hope that it would help me—and perhaps even someone else. I expressed my nervousness to Sarah, worrying about how I’d deliver it and whether I’d break down or not cry at all. I wasn’t ashamed of my story, but I was nervous about putting down my walls and being honest for the first time in a long time.
When Sunday came, I decided to go first. I knew I wouldn’t be emotionally stable enough to hear someone else’s story and then share mine. When I shared, I didn’t even look up. I don’t even remember how long I spoke or what I said, I honestly felt like I blacked out. But even though I couldn’t see their faces, I felt the room’s full attention and support. It was so overwhelming to know that I was truly heard for the first time in years. After sharing, I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. It was also comforting to know I was honoring my dad in the process and sharing how wonderful he was with others, because he deserved to be celebrated. I’ll never forget looking around once I was done and seeing the pain in people’s faces, just as I had felt for them. We all wanted to take each other’s hurt away. It was clear they genuinely cared about my story. It was amazing to realize that some things I shared resonated with others. One moment that stands out is when one of my peers gave me a pin after I shared my story and told me it made them feel seen. That’s when I knew that, although sharing something so personal was hard, it was worth it because it helped someone else.
Throughout camp, there was no pressure to “fix” our feelings or “get over it”. We all just validated each other’s experiences, and it was so comforting to feel so understood. Above all, these people were so genuine. When people say, “I’m here if you need anything,” I truly believe it when it comes to the incredible people I met at CZC. It’s hard to find that kind of love and support, especially with people who were once strangers. This experience would’ve been powerful regardless, but being surrounded by other young adults who’ve shared similar loss at a young age made it that much more relatable and impactful. Although I wish we never had to bond over losing someone, it was nice not feeling alone in it.
There’s been a lot of what I call “God moments” since my dad’s passing and being in the airport after this life-changing weekend and finding out the Bears finally beat the Packers felt so fitting. The last time they won was when my dad was alive, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was with me throughout the whole weekend—especially when I saw a deer on my walk, which felt like another sign.
To sum up the kind of people Lynne and Kelly are, I’ll share one last story. On my way home to Wisconsin, I ran into some major weather issues and experienced a lot of delays and cancellations. The thing about CZC is that the community doesn’t end when camp does. Lynne and Kelly checked in on me every step of the way to make sure I was taken care of. They even got me a hotel room after my flight was cancelled just to ensure I was safe and stayed up late to make sure I got there. They treated me like family, and I’ll forever be in awe of their kindness. When people ask me about them, I describe them as literal angels on earth. As I told them, I’d go through a million missed flights just to relive that weekend. The Payton before camp would be shocked to hear me say that! Even after camp ended, they continued to check in on me, asking about my job and checking in from time to time. Some other people who truly deserve recognition are Ed, Becky, and Corey — they’re top-notch humans as well. None of these people seek recognition, but they certainly deserve it. Their kindness isn’t for show, it’s real and it makes a lasting impact. No thank you will ever be enough.
Since attending CZC, I’ve gotten back into church and feel like I’m able to pour more of myself into my teaching job and my life. There’s truly nothing like Comfort Zone Camp, and I am forever grateful for everything they’ve done for me. If you’re considering going, take it as a sign from my dad and do it for you. It’s life-changing. I hope that I can help make a difference through this incredible organization.
Living With the Love He Left Behind
I hate that I had to write this in past tense, and I hate that I had to join the “dead dad club,” but that’s my reality. Some days, it’s hard to remember what my life was like with my dad in it. It’s hard to wrap my head around that eventually, I will have lived longer without him, than with him. When I truly think about what happened, I can hardly believe it was my life.
I see my dad in so many things: the vibrant cardinals, the deer that startle me when they run across the road, and the most gorgeous sunsets. I just know he’s doing his best work up there. Whenever I have those life moments—like, “Wow, this is actually working out for me”— I know he’s playing a part in it. He is my angel in the outfield.
One of the places I go to feel close to my dad is in the woods. I came up with the idea and built him a memorial in his slice of Heaven on Earth. We added personal touches while still keeping it natural, just as he loved and appreciated the land. His original deer stand remains untouched in the tree, and I find peace visiting this place, knowing it’s being preserved. We never had a funeral or anything like that because he didn’t want anything to be about him. This memorial gives me a place where I can go “see” him.
I still struggle to look at recent pictures. I hold tight to old ones and text messages. I’m known for taking way too many pictures and videos, but now, those with my dad in them mean everything to me. I wish I had so many more. It’s painful to look back at pictures year after year, expecting new ones, only to realize there won’t be any.
What keeps me going is the thought of the glorious day we will have when we are reunited in Heaven. I can’t wait to run to him the second I get there and have him hold me close. There’s so much to catch up on. His death continues to shape how I view everything. I miss him most on days that are all about him, or on special days in my own life.
Grief for me has always been hidden. I’ve done it sad, happy, discouraged, weak, and hopeless – because I knew I had to keep going or I’d quit, and that’s not what my dad would want. I’ve always been a private and independent person, and this loss made me even more so. In everyday life, people are often shocked when they find out I lost my dad because of the way I carry myself. Over time, I’ve tried to share more stories and memories of my dad because I want people to know how wonderful he was, and that you can find positivity in the pain. I’ve learned to be more open about it, even when I don’t want to talk about it, because if I can help even one person, it’ll be worth it.
Sometimes it feels easier to be sad, but I try to focus on the good. I’ve tried to view his loss in a different light, and instead of being mad he was taken so soon, I’m grateful for the 17 years that I did have with him. Many people aren’t as lucky as I was to have a father who was truly present. For that, I’d take only 17 years a million times over, just to have the dad I did. He was one of a kind.
My dad taught me so much. I look up to the person he was and try to carry a little bit of him in me. His life constantly reminds me of my favorite quote, “be a light,” and it’s something I try to live by every day. He was a light to so many people. You never know what someone’s going through, but you can still make a difference and make the world a better place. Especially now that I’m a teacher, I strive to be a positive and uplifting presence for my students and help them believe in themselves. Something as simple as a smile and being approachable can go a long way. I’m so grateful that I had a dad who inspired me to do that.
If you take just one thing from this, let it be: Show up for your people. Be a light. Leave things better than you found them. Appreciate the small things. Show up as the best version of yourself and touch lives along the way. And no matter what, don’t give up, even when your whole world is crashing down. Let grief change you for the better.
I’ll forever be grateful for the people who remember my dad and have been there for me year after year, helping keep his spirit alive. You’ll never know how much that means to me. To my dad, I love and miss you so much and am so proud to be your daughter.
By: Payton Brennan
