Rush Ridings

Rush Allen Ridings, 65, of Grovespring, Missouri, passed away on April 8, 2025, at 7:35am, with the world just beginning to stir and the sky still quiet. And somehow, it felt like the earth itself slowed down to honor the man who carried its weight on his shoulders for so long.

Rush was born on August 9, 1959, in Houston, Texas— the youngest son of the late Josephine and Denhamn Ridings, and the younger brother of the late Terry Ridings. He lived in many places over the course of his life, but nowhere mattered more than home. He found that in Grovespring, where he planted roots in the deepest sense—through his family, through his faith in loyalty, and through a love that asked for nothing and gave everything.

Rush is survived by his loving wife of 20 years, Daniela Ridings, 46; his son, Quinn Ridings, 24; and his daughter, Briannah Ridings, 20—who writes this now with a heart cracked wide open, because how do you say goodbye to the man who taught you everything?

Rush wore toughness like armor.

His exterior—stoic, silent, and at times unreadable—was forged by a hard life, a life filled with battles most people never saw. But those lucky enough to break through his shell, the few he let all the way in, got to witness something rare: a heart that was unshakably pure. A tenderness that lived behind his eyes. A loyalty so deep, so fierce, it could move mountains.

He served in the United States Army with pride, courage, and grit— including deployments in the Gulf War and Operation Desert Storm. And though he rarely spoke of it, you could see it in the way he carried himself— not boastful, not loud, but quietly powerful. Like a man who had seen enough to understand what really mattered.

He was the first in his family to earn a college degree—not for prestige, not for applause, but to carve a path where there had never been one. He earned his bachelor’s in computer science not out of ambition, but out of love. To show his children that no dream is too big, no past too heavy, and no road too broken to walk. That even when the odds are stacked against you, you rise anyway—because you can.

Rush spent his life working—always working. He never stopped providing, protecting, sacrificing. He was a truck driver, a paint maker and mixer, a grocery store clerk, a pizza delivery driver, a volunteer firefighter, a technician at Orkin for 17 and a half years. But above all else, his favorite job was being a husband and father. That was the role that filled him up. And somehow, no matter how tired he was, he always made time. For stories. For father-daughter trips. For advice. For hugs that lasted just a little longer when he knew you needed them most.

His work ethic was unmatched. His laughter—rare, but gold when you earned it. His silence said more than most people’s shouting ever could. He was strength and softness in one. He was the reason no one ever felt alone in his presence. And despite everything he went through— the storms, the scars, the grief— he stood tall. Like he was invincible. Because in some ways, he was. In the way he loved. In the way he endured. In the way he knew who he was.

His family was his life. His children, his legacy. His love, a quiet fire that never went out.

His heart was the purest thing I, his daughter, ever knew. And to know him—even just a little—was to be changed forever.

Fly high you stubborn old man. You deserve the rest, you’ve more than earned it.