Bradley Shane llewellyn

Bradley Llewellyn

 

February 27, 1986 – August 6, 2026

 

Bradley Llewellyn passed away on August 6, 2026, at the age of 40.

 

Bradley was a father, son, brother, soldier, musician, dog lover, and wandering soul. He was wild and stubborn, thoughtful and kind, extremely honest, fiercely protective of the people he loved, and never particularly interested in fitting neatly inside anyone else’s version of what his life was supposed to look like.

 

More than anything in this world, Bradley loved his daughter, Sadie Llewellyn. Of all the roads he traveled and all the things he was in this life, being her father mattered most.

 

Bradley is survived by his daughter, Sadie Llewellyn, her mother Reyan; his mother, Sandra McKenzie her husband, Rick; his father, William Llewellyn his wife, Robin; his siblings, David Llewellyn, his wife Shawna; Shasta Llewellyn; Misty Hopper, her husband, Jason; William Llewellyn; Jennifer Ralston; Chrissee Littrell; Chloe Snook; and Mandy Shugart; his grandmother, Beverly Llewellyn; and many nieces, nephews, extended family members, and friends who loved him.

 

He was preceded in death by his grandparents, Calvin Lee Dowdy, Dorothy Magaline Dowdy, and William Llewellyn.

 

Bradley served his country in the United States Army, including a tour in Iraq. It was one chapter in a life filled with many chapters that didn’t always fit neatly together.

 

At his core, Bradley was a Kerouac kind of soul. He loved the open road, music, meeting people, dogs, sleeping beneath the stars, and the freedom of not always knowing where he would end up next. There was something restless in him, something always looking toward the next horizon.

 

He once said he felt closer to God sleeping beneath the stars than he ever did sitting in a church pew.

 

Maybe that tells you more about Bradley than anything else could. He found God, meaning, and belonging in his own way, often somewhere outside the lines the rest of the world had drawn.

 

And that boy could play a guitar.

 

Bradley could outplay pretty much anyone, and he knew it. He played around campfires, under open skies, wherever there were people willing to sit awhile and listen. Music lit something up inside him. With a guitar in his hands, the restless parts of him seemed to settle, and for a while, he was exactly where he belonged.

 

The world wasn’t always kind to Bradley, and Bradley wasn’t always kind to himself. There were hard years, addiction, wrong turns, and chapters those who loved him wished could have gone differently. Sometimes loving Bradley meant wanting more for him.. wanting him safe, settled, or headed somewhere we thought was better.. when Bradley, in his own way, might have been perfectly happy right where he was.

 

Because Bradley measured a good life differently.

 

He brought whimsy into ordinary places. He brought stories and laughter, music around campfires, spontaneous adventures, and sometimes enough frustration to make the people who loved him crazy. He reminded people, whether he meant to or not, that there is more than one way to move through this world.

 

Bradley could have very little and still find something to give. He could give you some of the best advice you’d ever hear and then rarely take any of it himself. He loved his people fiercely, and if you were one of his people, life was simply a little less ordinary because Bradley had been in it.

 

His hardest chapters mattered. They just weren’t the whole book.

 

Bradley was complicated and imperfect, funny and frustrating, tender and wild. He was deeply human, and he was deeply loved.

 

So wherever you are now, Bradley, we hope there’s an open road in front of you, a guitar in your hands, a dog somewhere close by, and nothing but stars above you.

 

We hope the road is beautiful.

 

And most of all, we hope you finally feel completely free.

 

You were loved, Bradley, simply because you were you.