Three years later - remembering my dad

A tribute to Nick Kooman

Nov 21, 2024

I don’t want to forget him. Not that I ever could. This week my article is a repost of the eulogy I wrote for my dad. I want to make it an annual tradition to stop and give a glimpse into the incredible man he was, the sweet father, the friend to so many.

So whether you’re a new reader or old, whether you knew him or you didn’t, I hope you’re blessed to encounter Nick here in this way.

~ AK

Nicolaas Kooman took his first steps into glory on November 25, 2021. A beloved husband, father, brother and friend to many, Nick lived in Red Deer with his sweetheart Margaret since 1977 where they shared a life of purpose and made their home, raising four sons who are, to quote a favourite movie, “completely disinterested in living a life without their father.”

Nick was born on February 29, 1952 in Port Alberni, British Columbia, a leap year baby and the sole Canadian baby born after his dear and faithful parents, Machiel Kooman and Sophia (nee van Leeuwen), both who predeceased him, arrived with their children from Holland after the war in 1951. Nick and his siblings Willem (Vickie), Sophia (Tom), Johanna (Ken) and Catharina (Keith), all who survive him, moved to Ponoka, Alberta in 1953.

The family later moved to Red Deer when his parents took jobs at Michener Centre, a place he later worked in his teen years, and which provided for Nick’s sons one of their favourite stories involving his crisp new uniform, a bike ride and an unexpected stomach bug.

Many of the stories Nick shared with friends and family brought uproarious laughter. Whether they were tales of his high carrot intake and inter-mural sports during his post-secondary years, first at Red Deer College then at the University of Alberta, where he studied chemical engineering, death-defying anecdotes from the road when he motorbiked around North America after his studies, or his most unusual string of unfortunate haircuts, Nick liked to share his experiences, small and great, along with their unexpected twists.

Nick peeled his first potato at the age of four at the local convenience store on Ross Street, earning an ice cream cone for his labour, an experience that likely planted the seed for his lifelong enjoyment of snacks. Friends and family alike will attest to his predilection for opening cupboards to search out roasted peanuts or liquorice without hesitation no matter the occasion. And many have witnessed the meticulous way he’d cut down a row of brownies, line by thin line, until the whole pan was gone.

His fondness for entrepreneurial endeavours, like cutting grass and delivering papers at a young age, stayed with him his whole life. He regularly switched careers so as to keep Margaret, his boys and his grandchildren continually stumped with the simple question of, “What does Nick do?” The simple answer, of course, is “What he loved,” serving and helping people and finding ways to make things better for them. This ethos saw him work at the paper mill in Port Alberni, venture out into log home building with his big brother Bill, sell computerized hog-feeding systems, pivot into human resources at Nova Chemicals then Red Deer College and to later consult and support organizations, especially his home church, Trinity Fellowship, where he served his community tirelessly and with all his heart.

When pressed as to whether Nick put his engineering training to work, he and the family needed only to point to the wall in their log home where the height of every visitor was documented, show one of the many improvement projects he completed in the homes of his kids, or hand him a broom so Nick could create an impromptu experiment to test the laws of centrifugal force combined with the laws of gravity.

That’s because, to Nick, a broom was not a cleaning tool. It was a dizzying hinge on which mere mortals proved their powers. If you’ve never played the broom game, imagine this: You hold the broom handle vertically, pressing it tight to your chin, nose, forehead, as you look to the sky, encircled by a group of people counting in unison each spin your body makes around the handle, people who then watch, after ten quick spins, as you throw the broom to the ground and jump over it. The goal, of course, is to not fall down. The hope, of course, for onlookers is that you will stagger in front of all your friends grasping for equilibrium. It was a favourite game, and Nick led the charge, making it and the hilarious memories happen in backyards, summer camps and picnics for decades.

To know our dad was to know what it means to have laughter and have fun. A grape was not a delicious snack but a projectile to test hand-eye coordination and precision at distances spanning entire rooms. The target, a gaping mouth of a child or childlike adult at the other end.

One of my family’s last memories with dad was a game of target practice after a walk at a beautiful conservation area near our home in London, Ontario on a perfect summer afternoon. At the end of the path we stumbled on a grove of walnut trees that towered over the edge of a field and which had dropped walnuts all over the grass. Dad, William, mom, Petra, Sophie and I quickly had a game of target practice.

Man of no nameable hobby, receiver of Toblerones and socks, reader of the best bedtime stories, finder of interesting facts with an ability to make a competition out of any and every activity, Nick was quick to smile, listen and make people feel at home. He had a unique and irreplaceable set of skills, which included holding his breath underwater, accurately estimating and quoting building materials, making a perfect cup of coffee (though he drank it not), whistling with the sharpest trill and the lifelong ability to fall asleep on the floor within seconds of lying down.

Across Canada and into the United States, there are families with copies of poems, written for special occasions like weddings, baptisms, and graduations that Nick composed in his distinct and sprawling pentameter. Fond of limericks, Nick passed along a few dazzlers from his engineering days that will be imparted far beyond his generation of sons and daughters to delight future generations.

Beyond his love for funny verse and thoughtful words, Nick will be remembered most for his faith in God and his genuine belief that Jesus loves everyone, no matter what, including himself, a sinner saved by grace.

A faithful husband and father, after God, Nick loved his family most: his dear Margaret, his boys, his daughters-in-laws, and their children. When asked how he instilled faith and values into his family Nick, most often, would give credit to Marg who in turn would credit God. Perhaps his habit of early morning walks, quietly journaling with his Bible on the table in the early morning light of each new day along with his commitment to prayer, provide further insight.

Nick faithfully prayed for the city of Red Deer, whose beautiful trail system he used to walk, run, and bike on almost daily. He also prayed for family, friends and would never shy away from praying for people he bumped into in public or private who were sick, whether stranger or friend. True to his character, when family prayed for him while he was in his hospital bed, Nick made sure they also prayed for hospital staff.

Nick is survived by his loving wife Margaret to whom he was married for 46 years, his four sons and their beautiful wives who are true daughters: Christopher and Shana; Andrew and Petra; Matthew and Ashlea; Daniel and Christy. He is also survived by thirteen grandchildren whom he loved immeasurably (many who surpassed their leap year Opa in age): Avery, Fischer, Pierson, Spencer, Elijah, Gabriel, Finley, William, Rosie, Sophie, Theodore, Judah and August, the sweetest new addition who he has yet to meet. (And most recently, Collins, a great-granddaughter).

When the news of his passing went into the world, hearts rightfully broke. As people share their tears and fond memories, as Nick’s family we renewed clarity that this loss is so much more than just our own; Nick’s life, faith and kindness were shared and received by many who experienced him as a father, grandfather, and considerate friend.

Nick faced death as he engaged life, thinking about the welfare of those around him, looking forward to his next dipped ice cream cone, and holding strongly to the hope that Jesus loved him, the truth that made all the difference for him. His last gesture was consistent with the life he lived: he asked his newly assigned nurse if she knew John 3:16, that God so loved the world.

As a family we want to express our deepest gratitude for the way you stood with Nick, Marg and the whole family in faith in his last few weeks of life. We’re grateful for every prayer, every note of encouragement, every friendship, old and new.

We’re eternally thankful to belong to him, and that Nick belonged to us. With humility, sorrow, and peace we commit his soul to God, forever thankful for God’s gift of Nick’s life.