In Loving Memory of Steve Rest
He put the “Rest” in restoration
Some people enter your life quietly, and yet leave behind echoes that last forever.
Steve Rest was one of those people. A neighbor of a yoga student I once taught, Steve came into our orbit through a twist of connection. Patrick met him one day after class, and from the moment they shook hands, something sparked. Patrick was in awe — drawn into Steve’s world of Volkswagen, deep restoration knowledge, rare ideas, and story after story delivered with a glimmer in his eye, even through the haze of Alzheimer’s and the weight of a hard-lived life.
Not long after that first meeting, we heard the rumble of a VW Beetle outside our house. Steve had driven over. He waved cheerfully, stepped out wearing a mushroom-patterned poncho (it wasn’t raining), and just stood there smiling. Patrick lit up. The next thing I knew, Patrick was proudly showing Steve around the garage. While I kept gardening, I could hear them swapping stories, laughing like old friends, and it was clear: something lasting had begun. That day felt like the first of many chapters, full of odd joy and surprising comfort.
Patrick showed up for Steve from that day forward to the best of his ability. Sometimes fighting through Steve’s memory to be remembered — yet he was always remembered. Patrick skipped meals at home. He put off projects. He simply chose to be there for Steve. And at times, that was hard to watch — we have dreams we’re building too. But now, I see the truth: Steve is part of the foundation we’re building. He didn’t distract us from our path; he helped shape it.
Steve had a way of making you slow down. Listen. Look closer. He didn’t just restore old buses and parts — he restored meaning. He put the “Rest” in restoration. Through his presence, his passion, and even his stubbornness, he reminded us that good taste, and good friendship, require time, patience, care, and love.
And on his last day in his home, while waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Patrick held Steve’s hand, told him he’d be okay and “I love you.” Steve, though his words had long begun to drift, heard it. His eyes widened. He half stood, reached for something invisible, as if on a shelf, then put it back and said, “I put that away years ago.”
While Steve may have tried to close himself off from love — as a way of protecting himself from the pain of his past — he still carried on, and in doing so, experienced love and laughter through his friendships. That love, like a gift once placed on a shelf, is something we’ll continue to treasure.
In his final days, Patrick was by his side, through the ICU, in hospice, holding his hand, cracking jokes, and telling him “I love you.” A red VW bus sat out front of the hospice on a trailer. It brought us to tears. It was the sign we didn’t ask for but deeply needed. Patrick joked that the bus needed his help — and we like to think he heard us.
Steve passed away peacefully on Saturday, July 12. His memory will live on within each of us fortunate enough to know him.
Steve, the girls will continue playing your guitars… maybe even Zappa someday. The VW truck named Steve will drive on. We will keep laughing, showing up, being weird and wonderful, and trusting our instincts — just like you taught us.
You restored a piece of us, Steve, just by being yourself.
You reminded us what it means to care deeply.
And to put real Rest into the art of restoration.
Thank you for everything.
Rest easy, old friend.
To Steve, Who Knew the Sky
You talked of aliens like old friends,
With a grin and a gaze toward the stars.
Wore ponchos in sunlight,
Drove Beetles like ships
That knew every mile of your heart.
You moved slow, with stories and silence,
Restoring what most would forget.
Not just buses or parts —
But people, too —
Teaching us love with no net.
Now the road rolls on without you,
But we still hear your engine hum.
May your soul find the sky you dreamed of —
Wild, free, and finally home.
