Today, my Dad would have been 67. And I am finally able to share a bit about my Dad and my recent loss.

We lost Dad one month ago. It was completely unexpected and entirely too soon. He was gone in an instant. Taken from us by an undetected aortic aneurysm (TAAD) exacerbated by high blood pressure.

To my husband, children, family, and friends – thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me work through this. Without you, it would have been an unbearable season. I literally received a global outpouring of love in the form of cards, texts, flowers, prayers, hugs, phone calls, books, words of wisdom, and a beautiful dogwood tree planted in memory of my dad right outside my window. You all make up the best support network a girl could ask for I was elevated each day by this web weaved of love and compassion. I love you all.

And a special thank you to my mom for giving me a brother and a sister. I am their biggest fans and eternally grateful for them both, whom I leaned on this past month more than I have in all my 43 years. They are truly my lifelong best friends and, as my mom perfectly stated, we make an excellent team.

I didn’t have enough composure to give an eulogy at Dad’s service and Dad also didn’t have a traditional obituary written. Thus, in perfect Steve Starek fashion, I decided to craft my own.

Steven Robert Starek
October 16, 1953 – September 19, 2020

Artist. Creator. Dancer. Collector. Music aficionado. Tinker. Accordion player. Project planner. Doer. Mechanic. Tool fanatic. Dreamer. Swimmer. Cyclist. Woodworker. Photographer. Craftsman. Draftsman. Commercial kitchen designer. Upcycler. Fixer. Gamer. Automobile maven. Solo racer. Movie buff. Reader. List keeper. Animal lover. Nature admirer. World traveler. Motorcyclist and motocross enthusiast. Bad dad-joke teller. Son. Brother. Uncle. Father. Papa.

Death is a difficult part of life, but my siblings and I had a really hard time with this one. Having been blessed with healthy, long-living relatives, we weren’t well prepared for this sucker punch. I think some of us think of our parents as superhuman to some degree. Due to COVID precautions, I felt completely robbed of my time with Dad his last six months and not being able to say goodbye is a wound that will be raw for a very long time.

The week of his passing, wonderful childhood memories flooded back like a damn had broken or a blockade had been removed. Dad didn’t always make it easy for me and my siblings when we were younger, but he was always there if we needed him. As the eldest child (and daughter), he was super strict and protective of me which often came across as intimidating to friends – especially boyfriends. He taught me to be resourceful, respectful, prudent, careful, thorough and independent. He encouraged my scholastics, reading, imagination and creativity. He had a hot head and a short fuse, but like good leather, he softened with time and age.

We shared a love of music, art, dance (his 80s robot dance was killer!), video games, computers, Stephen King books, nature and animals. He managed to teach me how to drive a stick shift (my favorite car was my 6-speed Mini Cooper S), and he helped me move countless times throughout college and young adulthood. I’m sure one of his hardest and proudest moments was walking me down the aisle on my wedding day, and I will always remember the fun we had dancing together at the reception – especially to our song “My Girl.”

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As an adult, he constantly told me how proud he was of me and my accomplishments. And I won’t ever forget how Dad ended every visit and every call with, “Bye, sweetie!” I can still hear his voice in my ear.

This past week my siblings and I spent an amazingly cathartic, but long week at his home, reliving childhood memories and unearthing years of mementos (so many!) whilst holding back tears, laughing, goofing off and working through our pain and grief together. It was a tremendous undertaking since he never parted with anything and kept EVERYTHING. We were surrounded by dad’s creations and treasures. We couldn’t help but feel him there with us in every nook and corner.

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I think it’s only fitting that at this moment, on my dad’s birthday, one of his most incredulous, but cherished items (a 1929 Ford Model A) is being towed cross country by his son to my brother’s home where he hopes to restore it as a loving tribute to our dad. I cannot think of a more perfect final father-son project for my dad and brother. I also cannot imagine such a momentous undertaking.

I am beyond grateful that we moved back to St. Louis from Los Angeles and were able to make years of new memories with my dad as a father and grandfather. He shared his love of slot cars with his grandchildren and never turned down an opportunity to watch a CYC game, babysit, swim, play video games, participate in a NERF battle or work on Cub Scout Pinewood Derby cars (which always won a design category).

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I thank my lucky stars that our sons have these happy memories to cherish with their Papa Starek.

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This year of “firsts without dad” is only beginning, but I have had my signs that he is at peace. It’s also a comfort to know that friends and family will continue to wrap me in a warm blanket of love and support.

We love and miss you, Dad & Papa, today and always

Xx, Jenny