Edward T. Stroud
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Edward T. Stroud of Warrensburg, MO passed away on June 9, 2025 at the age of 65. He was surrounded by his Mother and Father, two sisters and his brother during that time that loved him very much.
Edward was passionate about cars and racing and worked at many dealerships throughout his life. He loved music, detailing cars and all his circle of friends. He graduated from Harry S. Truman High School and grew up in Independence, MO. Ed was an entertainer to all that met him and known for a big heart.
He will be dearly missed. No Memorial Service is scheduled at this time.
I remember when we were both young and more carefree. So good looking and kind
Condolences to his beautiful family
Ed was a person to remember. Personality, charm and could always make you laugh. I could say so many things but he was unique and a free spirit. Our family will be at a big loss without him. Love you always, your big sister.
I remember my cousin Eddie as a very friendly and kind man. He would hang with my brother MIchael and my other cousin Jimmy who have also unfortunately passed. I know his parents and siblings loved him very much. They did so much to help him when needed. He will be missed.
With love,
Bob Reynolds
Losing Eddy was a little unexpected since he had seemed his energetic self. Which meant that he could talk on three subjects and tell a story, before you could get out your response on the first subject.
Though Eddy was my brother, he had another family I didn’t know. He had a community of people in his life that for better or worse, he cared about and helped however he could. He liked being needed. He also liked making people laugh. So to that end he could embellish a story on the fly to get maximum entertainment value for his audience.
I started following Eddy around as soon as I was able to walk or really run, since he had long legs and it was hard to keep up with him. I was always running after him, and then as we grew older, he ended up running after me for whatever annoyance only a sister could cause. And having to run for my life at any given moment, surely helped make me a better sprinter.
But early on I got to do lots of fun stuff, because if he had cars I got to race cars. Whatever ball game, bike jumping, summer sledding, cliff rappelling event he was doing, I got to enjoy. And on Saturday mornings Eddy would watch and explain Roller Derby or All Star Wrestling to me. This would include demonstrations of moves/holds as needed. So now when I can’t remember the name of my doctor, I can remember Bulldog Bob Brown, Rufus R. Jones, and Andre the Giant.
We miss your smile, your laugh, and your Rod Stewart hair. In our hearts you remain, Forever Young.
Love, your little sister
I know many of you may not know me personally, but I felt it was important to share who Ed—my dad—was to me and what he meant to our family.
Ed came into our lives when I was still very young, after he met and fell in love with my mother. And from the moment he stepped into our world, he didn’t hesitate—he became a father to all of us. Not just in name, but in every way that counts. He didn’t just love my mother; he embraced our entire family as his own—me, my sister, and my two brothers.
He didn’t have to choose us. But he did. Completely. And he never made us feel like anything less than his own children.
Life wasn’t easy. We didn’t grow up with a lot. Times were tough—there were stretches when we barely made it by, when food was scarce, and when stress hung heavy in our home. But even during those hardest times, Ed found a way to keep us going. He didn’t just hold the family together—he carried us, through sheer love, humor, and determination.
He had this unshakable charisma, this energy that could light up even the darkest of days. He cracked jokes when we were all down, made silly faces when we were mad, and created joy where there should’ve been none. He had a way of bringing us back to each other, even when the world around us was falling apart.
He was the one who taught me how to ride a bike. I remember him running beside me, shouting encouragement as I wobbled down the street. And when I fell—because of course I did—he picked me up, dusted me off, smiled, and said, “Try again, kiddo. You’ve got this.”
He made sure I got to school, even when gas money was tight. He made me feel safe when I was being bullied and helped me believe in myself when I felt invisible. When I had my first crush, he didn’t laugh or tease—he listened. Gave me advice. Told me it was okay to feel scared, to feel hopeful. That I had a good heart.
He showed up—not just for birthdays and big events, but for everyday life. For the scraped knees, the late-night talks, the tears, the laughter. He gave me the tools to be strong, to keep going, to be a man with integrity and heart. His love didn’t come with conditions or limits—it was constant, unspoken at times, but always there.
Some of my most cherished memories are of the ordinary moments—him sitting on the couch with us, telling some wild story that made no sense just to hear us laugh. Singing to the radio in the car as if putting on a full concert. Letting me help him clean a car he was detailing, showing me how to check the oil, explaining life lessons between every step.
He made me feel like I mattered. Like I had a place in this world. Like I was loved—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. And that, to me, is what a father truly is.
Even if others didn’t always see our bond, I carry it with me every single day. He was there for the big moments, but also for the quiet, meaningful ones. The ones that helped make me who I am.
He wasn’t just there for me—he was there for all of us. He loved my siblings like his own. He made us laugh when we had every reason to cry. He never gave up on us, even when life gave him every excuse to stop trying. And he loved my mom with his whole heart—anyone who saw them together could see that. Their love wasn’t perfect, but it was real. It was strong. And it was the heart of our home.
So many people knew Ed for his humor, his charm, his larger-than-life personality. But I knew him as the man who never gave up on a kid who needed a dad. The man who stood in the gap and gave everything he had to people who needed him. The man who showed me what love and loyalty really look like.
I may not have shared his last name or his blood, but I am proud beyond words to say I was raised by Ed Stroud. That he was my father. That he loved me like his own. That he chose me.
I miss him more than I can possibly explain. But I carry him with me. In every laugh I share. In every time I step up for someone else. In every moment I choose kindness over anger. That’s him. That’s what he gave me.
Thank you to everyone who loved him and supported him throughout his life. I know he meant a great deal to so many of you. And I want you to know—he changed my life. He gave me the love, safety, and strength I needed. He gave me everything.
Rest in peace, Dad. I’ll carry you with me, always.
With love, forever,
Kevin Kendall
Eddie was my best friend’s big brother. I remember him playing basketball with us when we were kids. He was funny, energetic, and hard-working. I remember Eddie cracking us up while making jokes about the other drivers when he took us to pick up his sister’s new car. And, of course, he always made me think of Rod Stewart and vice versa.
My condolences to his family for the loss of their son, brother, and father. Eddie will be missed.