Hello, my name is Kennedy Murphy, and I’m a high schooler from sunny San Diego. [Applause] When I was five, I went through something pretty horrible, but I was thrown a lifeline.
Like most teenagers, my life is a mix of school, sports, and fun. I attend my historic San Diego High School, right in the heart of downtown, and I take eight rigorous classes and complain to my friends about every single one. I love everything sports: volleyball, track, and especially football. I play flag football for my school on an all-girls team. [Applause] I broadcast my city’s tackle football games as an announcer. And of course, I’m a proud Eagles fan. And in late September, I finally got my license. [Applause]
For the past eight years, I’ve ended my year with something I look forward to more than anything: a week-long sleepaway camp. Pretty normal, right? But I’m not your typical teenager, and this isn’t your typical camp.
On February 4th, 2014, I had a cold. My dad read me a story and rubbed Vicks VapoRub on my chest. That smell still brings me back to that night. He woke my mom up with chest pains, and an ambulance was called. A neighbor came over, woke me up, and helped me get dressed. I could see the red and blue flashing lights outside my bedroom window, and that is something I will never forget. They took my dad away. My mom and I followed in our car, and she called my grandparents, my Poppy and G. At the hospital. My mom went back with the doctors, and I was sat in a cold, unfamiliar room with the TV on. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew something was wrong. I wish someone had taken the time to explain it to me, but no one did. My grandparents arrived just in time to hear that my dad was gone, leaving my mom, a brand-new puppy, and 5-year-old me. My dad was just 44 when he died. Later, we found out that his cause of death was an aortic dissection. He was a normal guy. He worked in marketing and he loved music, especially when it was coming from his 1972 Oldsmobile Cutlass named Francine. I’ll never forget his deep belly laugh. It was the kind of laugh that could just fill an entire room. He was the guy everyone went to for advice.
After my dad passed, my mom and I moved to a smaller house in a neighborhood that, at every turn, wouldn’t remind us of his loss. My grandparents moved just two blocks away to help raise me. Nights at their house were spent watching late-night TV that I probably shouldn’t have been watching, and sometimes, just sometimes, I get to drive my grandpa’s Toyota truck down the side street. It’s the highlight of my night. These nights didn’t just give my mom a break, but they helped me unwind and just be a kid.
People often think that kids don’t grieve the same way adults do, but the truth is grief is grief. Grief doesn’t care how old you are, where you’re from, or what social class you’re in. It is the great equalizer of our world and is one of the few things we are all going to experience. Children like me go through the same complex emotions, and we need the same support as any adult would. We need the same counseling, spaces to heal, and just love. That’s one of the main reasons I go to camp. Experience Camps is a camp for children who have lost parents and siblings. It is a week-long sleep-away camp full of so much fun. For example, sports. We have a camp-wide competition called College League, which can get pretty, pretty competitive, but it’s amazing. But there are also some more grief-related activities, of course, like journaling, meditation, and learning coping skills we can use in our day-to-day life.
I was seven the first time I went to camp. I was terrified. My mom was too. I mean, after all, she was dropping me off for a whole week in a parking lot of a Bed Bath & Beyond. Before grief camp, my mom and I tried everything. We tried support groups, therapies…art therapy, group counseling, one-on-one, but none of them were a good fit for me. As soon as I got off that bus at camp, I was surrounded by so many loving people, and they were all waving signs with tree names on them. It was weird, but I stuck with it. The sign with my name on it was Willow. Little did I know the kids in that bunk and the counselors would become some of my lifelong, very best friends and role models. Year after year, I returned each year, surrounded by these loving people who understood what it was like to lose someone so important at such a young age. At camp, I didn’t have to worry about being bullied, which was a major problem I was facing at school. I remember being on the playground and hearing whispers of my name, and sometimes kids would come right up to me with these comments and questions that made my eyes water and my stomach turn. I thought everyone was against me, but the truth is they were just confused. But at camp, I was safe from all of that. I had the incredible Experience Camp staff by my side: strong, resilient women who served as role models to me, like engineers, writers, and even Olympians—actually, all people I can truly look up to. I also had the older campers, the LITs or Leaders in Training, who also inspired me and showed me that no matter what they’ve been through, they still continue to do great things.
Over the past eight years, camp has been a lifeline with me. It’s been with me through my awkward middle school phase, which was luckily during most of COVID, to getting my first car and starting to look at colleges. We have dance parties to Katy Perry, make milkshakes in giant metal pots, and race down slip-and-slides covered in slime. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s so amazing.
Often, when someone at home passes, kids, including myself, take on responsibilities that they’re not supposed to have at that age. We don’t get to be kids. There are so many deep, dark emotions just swirling around us, and I just wanted to fix them all, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to. When I talk to my fellow campers, they all relate to this kind of grief-makes-you-grow-up-faster feeling. But until then, no one else got that. And they all agree that at camp, you can just let go, breathe, and just be a kid.
This summer was my last summer at Experience Camps. As I got on that bus, I knew it’d be especially hard to leave this place that I love so much. I was an LIT now, which meant working with the younger bunks and also learning skills to help us transition into adulthood. We also got some special things like late-night pizza swims and card games, you know, just normal things for normal kids. Working with the younger bunks was harder than I expected. I picked Joshua Tree, a cabin for being the most fun and competitive. The campers were between 11 and 12, a cabin I never got to be in because of COVID. We didn’t have any formal counseling sessions or anything of that sort. It was mostly just having lunch with them, playing games like kickball, and mostly just listening to them, hearing their stories. I found myself reflecting on my experiences at that time, and it reminded me of just how far I’ve come. It’s bittersweet knowing that this chapter of my life is closing, but I hope to come back as a counselor next year and give back to those kids, just like the counselors gave to me.
I can say with absolute certainty that without the resources and support I received here at camp, I would not be the person I am today. My mom always says that sending me to camp was the best decision she’s ever made for me, and I completely agree. Now, as a part of the Experience Camps Youth Advisory Board, I’m proud to help spread these resources and work towards a more compassionate world, one where we can talk openly about grief and loss, and one where it’s respected and there’s love. Whenever my family or I hear that someone’s facing the unthinkable, the first thing we ask is if they have kids, and if so, when’s the absolute soonest they can get to camp. And I hope after hearing me speak today, you would do the same for any grieving child, because no one deserves to go through this alone. Thank you. [Applause] [Music]
