We were never particularly close. But then again, I was one of 15 grandchildren. I hadn’t expected him to pay more attention to me than the others. Not to mention, he lived a bit further, and we rarely drove in that direction.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the weekends as a kid visiting him and my grandmother in their one-story ranch home in the quiet Wisconsin town of Waupun. He was often tinkering with something—a radio, the car, or anything that could be taken apart. His work bench was spread across the garage and basement where he kept hundreds of tools and pieces of equipment, rendering it possible for him to fix just about anything you put in front of him.

That was his thrill and passion: the opportunity to put his hands to work. Like his siblings and their father, and his father before him, and so on, Loomans’ were born with a potent strain of hard work and grit in their DNA. They love doing stuff.

The Eighty-Something-Year-Old

My grandfather—Richard Loomans—fit this multi-generation construct with incredible precision. He spent his early years helping his father, Richard Loomans Sr, tend farmland, build homes, and a slew of other side projects. In the 1950s he entered the service, married my grandma, and had his first child, the couple’s only daughter, Vicki. Over the next 15 years they welcomed five more kids, including the youngest in 1972, my own dad.

My Grandpa Loomans was a skilled electrician and tradesman. He was crafty, motivated, and smart. Rarely was there something he couldn’t fix. To say he wore many hats would be like saying a zebra has stripes—it was an obvious part of who he was.

Mild-mannered, kind, and humble, my Grandpa Loomans was also an incredible role model when it came to character. He was gentle, but stern, focused on quality, truthful, and always willing to share a joke.

In many ways I regret not taking a greater interest in his story growing up. It never occurred to me that there may be depth under his exterior—someone who had experienced incredible challenges throughout his life but handled them all with the same grit of his forebears.

Only when I first started asking him about our family history did I realize this eighty-something-year-old had a rich and compelling history to share. He wasn’t the type of person to spout off endlessly about his past, but when I asked some probing questions about his life experiences, he recalled them quickly.

He was proud of his family—his six children who were all leading successful careers and families. “Without family, what else really is there?” he mentioned to me once. To him, his life was defined far less by the jobs he had, the places he lived, or the cars he drove. His life was the story of his loved ones.

Uncovering of His Story

My 2019 family history project The Living Years, which inspired this personal site and its archives, was originally intended to focus on and document my family’s heritage in the Netherlands. Only when I opened my ears and heart to an evolved relationship with my grandfather did I realize his story had to be shared in more than a page or two.

Months of phone calls, question and answer sessions, and reviewing old photographs led to a meaningful portrait of the key moments that made up this incredible man’s life. He told me about seeing President Eisenhower while in the service, his short courtship turned 60+ year marriage to my grandmother, and the time he was struck by lightning (through the engine of a vehicle… somehow, he survived). He also spoke about his challenges finding work, what it was like listening to the reports of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and the two decades of bus driving he did for local schools.

As I compiled his stories with the other elements of my family ancestry for The Living Years, it became clear that the story I was writing reflected his story—one of struggle, belief, hard work, and gratitude.

In Remembrance and Love

Last year on August 7, 2021, after years of borrowed time, Grandpa Loomans passed. Not two months earlier we held a family reunion to commemorate our shared heritage. It was the last time I saw him. And there were few times I ever saw him happier than having our entire extended family together for a few hours on a sunny summer afternoon.

Losing Grandpa Loomans was the first time I experienced the loss of a grandparent. It was the first time I saw my grandma cry. It was the first time in my adult life that I had to work through the loss of a loved one—someone that meant more to me than I realized—and carry on in the face of it all. Undoubtedly easier said than done.

In the immediate weeks and months after he passed, I thought a lot about the fact that his story—the one I worked so hard to document in the couple years prior—had concluded. That was it. Done.

But in the time since I’ve realized that his story was never solely his own. His years of service and sacrifice, his collection of life experiences and wisdom, were always a part of me. Just as his story is a part of my father’s and will one day be a part of my own children’s. It’s not solely because I am drawn from his bloodline, but rather because the lessons and ideals he passed to my dad were also passed to me.

That potent strain of hard work and grit would always be a signature part of who we are. And I have him to thank for that.

As I reflect on his loss a year later, I can’t help but feel grateful and fortunate that I spent the last two years of my grandfather’s life learning so much about him—and in the process, realizing so much more about myself.

Given this, it feels fitting that the inaugural post on this site memorializes that eighty-something-year-old—someone who truly embodied the strength and experiences of the Loomans family story. I feel privileged to launch this site knowing that it pays tribute to him and his character, and the many things he has left in our care to pass on.

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