Kathleen Carmen Rehder

Kathleen “Kay” Carmen Rehder (nee Castillo), of Hazelwood, MO, passed away Tuesday, February 24, 2026, at the age of 75. Beloved wife of Raymond Rehder; cherished daughter of the late Jesus and Prudence Castillo; devoted mother of Ray Rehder, Joel (Ruth) Barton, Steve (Nancy) Rehder, Erika (Jared) England, Jay (Katie) Barton, and Erin (the late John) Durfee; loving grandmother of Raychel (Kyle) Jarrett, JJ (Jessica) Griswell, Christian Rehder, Tiffiny (Mike) Landa, Olivia (Andrew) Barton, Patrick (Brittany) Barton, Bradley Rehder, Nicky Rehder, Jeffrey Rehder, the late Timothy Barnfield, Vinny Baker, Madison Jackson, Joshua Jackson, Victoria Jackson, Kiersten Barton, Kylie Barton, and Broden Durfee,; treasured great-grandmother of Kayden Talley, Karlei Jarrett, Liam Griswell, Hatley Bridgeman, Rudy Landa, Bentley Martin, CJ Barton, Gage Barton, and Falyn Barton; dear sister of Joe, Dean, Mary, Helen, the late Jesse, the late Tony, and the late Mike.

There are love stories, and then there are lifetimes.

Kay and Ray didn’t just build a marriage — they built a world. A world tucked in, at the beginning of a dead-end street in Hazelwood, Missouri. Even as the neighborhood grew and changed around it, that house has stayed steady and constant.

It isn't just a house. It is the axis many lives have spun around.

The backyard with the weeping willow that seemed older than time. Winter sledding with family, down the hill until our boots were soaked and our cheeks burned. Summer slip-and-slides racing down that same slope. Swing sets. Pools. A playful dog weaving through legs and playing fetch at every gathering. Cannonballs. Birthday candles. Wet towels draped over patio chairs. And don't get me started on the grass...perfect, and if it wasn't, Ray made it his mission to fix it along with a forty-five-minute story on how he plans to do it.

Inside, the double-sided fireplace warmed decades of stories. The rolltop desk that somehow moved but never left. Cabinets packed with Tupperware and party-light candles. The covered patio that held dinners, birthday celebrations, and ordinary evenings that now feel sacred in hindsight.

The kitchen carried its own kind of magic.

That long counter that once stood in the middle with the small countertop TV there. Haircuts and hair dye happen in that kitchen more times than I can count. Salon days, sleepovers with blankets and pillows on the living room floor, popcorn, a vhs tape rewind machine that was shaped like a car, more movies we could even dare to watch and a ton of late-night laughter echoing down the hallway.

The smell of tobacco pipe drifting softly through the air — a scent that feels like memory itself. It is a smell imbedded deep in our heart. I love it. The carport door, always the door everyone would use, making that unmistakable sound when someone entered or left. It is a sound that feels so familiar.

The driveway big enough to hold many cars, it was once even added to — and yet somehow never big enough when we all gather, because the blessing of this family spills into the street. Parked cars lining it like proof of abundance.

Kay loves shopping. Man, oh man does she love to shop! Like credit cards in blocks of ice kind of shopping. Like second and third mortgage kind of shopping. QVC kind of shopping. It's always been some of the best memories with Grandma. Watching her be very selective for the newest addition to her shoe stash or her ever flowing closet. Yet wouldn't you know it, Ray loves paying the bills. Seriously LOVES paying bills. If he is not in the yard or the garage, he is paying bills. It seems as if he finds pleasure in reading every line of every email. Here lately it's been a running joke in the family, and I guess you could say it's a partnership so beautifully balanced it almost makes you laugh.

The amount of holiday decor that we grew to expect is something I will never let go of. Kay’s sparkle while Ray quietly made it happen. Hours of Christmas lights hung outside — I know he strung them, but I also know she had a vision for every single one. The same thing with the flowers in the front or along the beds surrounding the yard, Ray had control where they went or what color the giant mums were as long as Grandma said so.

They even owned a craft store together — The Squirrel’s Nest. The store had a distinct smell, paint and dried flowers. It was a boutique style but filled with hand crafted goodies. When the store eventually closed, all of those things were packed up and stored in their home. And now I smile at the irony, because their home is exactly that. A nest. Layered. Collected. Full. Not of clutter, but of stories.

When I think of my her, I think how she has been so constant for so many people. The stories I've been told. What I have been able to witness myself.

She has never changed.

In every season of my life, she has always been the same — boujee in the best way. Put together. Strong. Polished. The kind of woman who could take a tequila shot with the best of them and still look completely composed. She carries herself with confidence and grace, but she has never been unapproachable. She is always willing to listen.

Always.

You could sit at that kitchen counter and talk. And she would hear you. Not just nod — hear you. There is strength in her presence. A steadiness. A sparkle. She could host a house full of chaos and still look like she stepped out of a magazine. She can navigate blended family dynamics, tragedies, celebrations, and everything in between without losing who she is.

She has always been strong.

Always been a little fancy.

Always been steady.

Always been herself.

And that consistency — that unwavering presence — has been a bonus gift in our lives.

We were lucky to have witnessed lifelong commitment in action.

Lucky to have seen tragedy met with resilience.

Lucky to have heard the stories of front-yard fist fights and huge backyard house parties.

Lucky to have experienced holidays bursting with noise and others heavy with grief — all under the same roof.

The basement, even packed to the brim, always made space for family in need. The house absorbed hardship and celebration the same way — without hesitation.

Even now, through it all, this huge family is blessed to take it all in and we have an opportunity to not waste a legacy....

That is what lifelong commitment looks like.

It looks like decades of partnership and friendship.

It looks like choosing each other, despite the trauma.

It looks like sledding hills and slip-and-slides.

It looks like tobacco pipe smoke and hair dye in the sink.

It looks like holiday lights and tequila shots. It looks like blended families becoming simply “family.”

It looks like listening.

It looks like staying.

This legacy has not been fragile — it has been forged. It is not temporary — it has been multiplied.

Home will always be more than wood and brick. It always means more than what will remain, when they are both gone from this world. It is the backdrop to many childhood memories and lifelong friendships. A place that taught many that consistency is a gift. That commitment matters. That family is built by belonging.

What they built cannot be undone by illness.

It cannot be erased by time.

This family cannot be reduced to grief.

Because what they truly built was us.... the messy, the difficult, the beautiful, the brave, the blessings, the meaning.

What a gift.

Memorials may be made in Kay's name to the American Cancer Society.