A LIFE WELL LIVED: David Lee Cunningham

I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you.
…So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you.
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart….
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good.

(From “For Good” in Wicked)

          In 1954, Dwight D. Eisenhower was president. America was experiencing economic growth as well as unrest. The American public enjoyed the first color broadcast of the World Series and the first episode of NBC’s “The Tonight Show.” It was the year of Bill Haley’s “Rock Around the Clock,” Hitchcock’s Rear Window, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, White Christmas, Lord of the Rings, Lord of the Flies, Marilyn Monroe’s marriage to Joe DiMaggio, and Elvis Presley. That year also saw the first mass vaccination of children against polio as well as Brown v Board of Education, which made segregation in US public schools unconstitutional. Along with the boom came the scare of communism and the threat of nuclear war. In the midst of the chaos and prosperity, David Lee Cunningham was born on March 15 in El Dorado, Kansas, to Robert Bruce Cunningham and Bonnie Jean Volesky. David grew up on the family farm with two siblings, Barbara Ann who was the oldest and Robert the II aka Bob, but David was the baby of the family. 

His mother was part Bohemian and part German. Her ancestors migrated to Kansas in the latter part of the seventeenth-century for land and opportunities unavailable in the Old Country. First and second generation homesteaders, they bought land cheaply when America expanded in the “go West” mentality. His father’s clan originated from Scotland and fought in the American Revolution, starting a longstanding family trend of military service. Grandma Bonnie often joked that the difference between her family, the Volesky’s, and her husband’s, the Cunninghams, was that if it looked like rain, the Cunninghams would pull the farm equipment into the barn to oil the gears and sharpen the blades, while the Voleskys would jump into the wagon and hurry to town for the Friday night dance before the roads muddied. But in truth, both families had a devotion to hard work, learning, farming, and the importance of serving one's family, community, church, country, and they passed all of these down to David and his siblings.

The family later moved to Missouri, and David graduated from Clinton High School as valedictorian of his class. He went on to study theater at UMKC and received reviews via letters from his mother who referenced herself by signing Bea A. Critic. When he returned home to the Midwest to visit and stage manage at a local dinner theater, she wrote reviews that the Kansas City Star published. After graduation, David decided to follow his dreams of being on Broadway and gravitated to New York City where he found acceptance and community. His stage name was David Cane, and he acted in plays like Samuel Beckett’s Endgame.

Eventually, David became a stage manager on Broadway and worked at Palace Theater on Crimes of the Heart as well as with Linda Haverman on La Cage Aux Folles Musical. Furthermore, he often worked behind the scenes, helping actors and actresses as well as his own nieces and nephews interpret and understand scripts and songs or helping them search for and find the perfect audition piece. For instance, he coached Bradley Whitford who later starred in the TV hit series West Wing.

David went on to earn a Masters of Clinical Psychology at Columbia College in New York City, and he even completed the required courses for his doctorate degree in clinical psychology at Syracuse University. For a short time, he was a counselor, but he decided to move in another direction. He was vice president of Pearson Communications in New York City as well as Communications Director of Information Systems Technology.

During that time, he rented an apartment on 85^th street in West Manhattan near Central Park where he walked his big, loveable dogs every day.

After living away from the family for twenty-five years, David retired from his job and moved back to Missouri. With him, he brought his German Shepherd-Chow Lola and some pressed autumn leaves from Central Park. His varied professions, adventures, and education served him well for the last phase of his life, the time where he was available for everyone in the family. He bought a house on a plot of land fertile with tall cedars and scenic meadows and on Highway 13, almost halfway between Bob’s family farm in Higginsville and the city of Warrensburg, rescued some mix breed dogs, and began hosting family events. He could have won the best host of the year award, and everyone took advantage of his pampering to eat the delicious ham, tomato, and green pepper omelets that he made to order for breakfast and to enjoy pasta parties or grilled dinners. Often, the celebrations lasted all

weekend with plenty of time for playing bridge tournaments, Scrabble, or various games such as the Broadway board and Dragon Joust card games he created. Through it all, laughter and squeals echoed throughout the walls of his home. His place was where we congregated after the fun and work of Apple Butter Day, for birthday parties, and just because.

In the introduction to my thesis for my MFA program, I wrote, “Special thanks to my Uncle David for inviting me to his home, sacrificing his time and reading through the manuscript with me on numerous occasions. Those hours spent at his country house amidst the backdrop of the tall, old cedar grove away from my daily life and duties allowed me to focus on this thesis. From our conversations, my exhaustive notes, and the valuable input and guidance of my writing instructors, I added and cut scenes, reworked passages, revised exposition and organized the essays. The entire process gave me further insight into my own life; it was like collecting quilt squares of differing textures, colors, and sizes and weaving them into a beautiful tapestry. Thank you, Uncle David.” I am positive that each individual in our enormous family has a similar story of appreciation and love for this special person.

In March, he once again hosted his 61^st birthday party, and we stayed up late on the 14^th, playing bridge and laughing until after midnight to bring in his new year. Although his year was tragically cut short, I’m grateful for that memory together and for all the others like it.

A tall man with an infectious, hearty chuckle, David was not only educated, intelligent, insightful, artistic, and talented, but he was also tremendously creative, highly knowledgeable, and extremely generous. Over the years, he drew plans for houses, bookshelves, and jungle gyms that he also often helped build. Several years ago, my daughter was a budding gymnast, so he constructed and helped build uneven bars in our backyard for her tenth birthday. Every December, he put together a family calendar for the Crawfords and Cunninghams and later also for the Johnson, Gaines, and Adams families. He collected, typed, and printed recipes so we could each have a family cookbook. He played online video games with his nephews. He wrote plays and critiqued our writing.

He created the flower arrangements for all of our weddings. Daily, he fed the birds and hummingbirds on his land. He was even active in the Johnson County Adult Literacy Program. So many things, so many times, he helped his 17 nieces and nephews, 30 great-nieces and nephews, his community, and even many animals. 

And he was there, every day, every time, when we needed someone to talk to on the phone. He was loving and good at listening, and he facilitated us with processing all the trials and mysteries that life threw at us. Now, I don’t know how we are going to process a world without him in it.

Thich Nhat Than said, “If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.” So I will look to see Uncle David in the wit of one relative and the heart of another. 

UD, you are literally one of the best people I have ever known. We love you. We cherish you. We will miss you. You will be in our hearts and memories forever.

David Lee Cunningham has left the world a better place because he was here, because he shared so much with so many, and because he knew how to live and love. In the words of one of his favorite Broadway musicals, La Cage Aux Folles:

Because the best of times is now,
Is now, is now.
Now, not some forgotten yesterday.
Now, tomorrow is too far away.
So hold this moment fast,
And live and love
As hard as you know how.
And make this moment last,
Because the best of times is now,
Is now, is now. 

David is a beloved brother, a treasured uncle, and a unique and gifted man. We are so blessed to have known him.

Steve Maraboli said, “I am always saddened by the death of a good person. It is from this sadness that a feeling of gratitude emerges. I feel honored to have known them and blessed that their passing serves as a reminder to me that my time on this beautiful earth is limited and that I should seize the opportunity I have to forgive, share, explore, and love. I can think of no greater way to honor the deceased than to live this way.” 

I encourage each person who hears or reads this to be kind, to use your gifts, and “live and love as hard as you know how and make this moment last.” We honor David and all that he did and all that he taught us by passing it along. Goodbye, our much-loved Uncle David. 

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We want to celebrate David, his life, and the ways that he moved us, so if friends or family have a memory and/or photo that you want to share, feel free to email it to me to add to this blog or any of you can add your memory in the comments below. 

Remembering UD

Amanda: I am so glad that we were able to visit UD last weekend. When he found out we were coming, he emailed me ahead of time and asked what snacks, drinks, and food we would like to eat while at his house. When we arrived he showed us the new game he created: Dragon Quest. Both Brett and Cale loved it, but particularly Cale who declared it his new favorite game and played the entire time we were there. I know the boys will always remember this last weekend with UD. As we were leaving, he said he was so glad we were able to come and wished we could stay longer. As we walked out the door, we all said "I love you" and hugged him. I am so thankful that we had this last visit, and I will not forget it or the many others that we shared. I will never play Scrabble, eat an omelet, or look at a family calendar without thinking of UD. We all loved him very much and will miss him always.

Jill: So many memories of such an amazing man. After his knee surgery, I stayed with him for a few days to help out. He sent me on a grocery trip with a list of what he needed, and when I arrived at the store, I realized that the list was in perfect order of where the items were located. He even had notes that told me to turn down this aisle or that to find what I needed. His memory astounded me. I helped him with the calendar every single year as well as spent hours editing the cookbook. We always had great laughs in our delirious state of tiredness in the wee hours of the night. At the end of our projects, we always had to bind them with a spiral plastic that you twist through the holes in the paper. We “never raced,” but he always ended up furiously twisting, finishing first, and then stating, "It wasn't a race!" with a little bit of gloat in his smile. I remember spending hours on the phone discussing the wonderful world of Harry Potter, planning my wedding, or just getting advice for this or that. His omelettes were the best, his hospitality was incomparable, and his counsel was irreplaceable. I have learned so much from this amazing man who always seemed to have expertise in every area. His wisdom, wit, and servant's heart are things that I will treasure in my memory forever.

Rachel: At Crawford Camp one hot summer day, we were all preparing lunch, but we couldn’t open the huge jar of artichokes. We had already opened the jar of dill pickles (in our family, you’ve got to have pickles) and everyone had tried to open the stubborn jar of artichokes. I tried. Sarah tried. Jill tried. Sarah and Jill tried together. Adam tried. Jill and Adam tried together. Uncle Bob tried. Sarah, Jill, Adam, and Uncle Bob all tried at the same time, but nothing worked! It wouldn’t open! Frustrated, we all walked away. A few moments later, UD walked up and popped open the lid on his first try! Uncle Bob said that we’d loosened it up for him, and we all laughed for days. 

Sam’s Back

          The girls were working on their chores after school on Friday when I left to pick up Sam for the weekend. We wanted to see with our own eyes that he was happy with Tom, and we wanted more time with Sam.  Plus, Tom was going out of town for the weekend and needed us to watch Sam.  Mostly, I knew that Sam had found his new home, but I wasn’t completely ready to admit it yet.

Thorin trotted out after me, hopped in the car, and rode along.  I left his leash at home; he’d been so ill and slow moving that we hadn’t needed it. 

          I walked into Tom’s house, and Sam was a big ball of sniffing, tail-wagging energy.  Definitely happy to see me, yet two minutes later, loud, deep barks erupted from his throat.  Woof, woof, woof!  Why did you leave me?  Woof, woof, woof!  Where are the girls?  Woof, woof, woof!  What’s going on?

          “Haven’t heard him bark before,” Tom said.  “Here, let me show you what I’ve taught him and what you can keep doing.”  Tom told Sam to sit at the garage door.  Sam sat, and Tom opened the door.  A miracle, Sam didn’t bolt but waited, his whole body quivering with want. 

Ruff!  Thorin stuck his head out the window to greet Sam, and Sam raced to say hi.  Here we go again, I thought. 

Tom put Sam on his leash, and I opened the door so Thorin could hop out and reunite with his buddy.  Thorin sniffed Sam and then scampered away.  Where did he get the sudden burst of energy?

I chased him, put both dogs in the car, and waved goodbye to Tom.  Again, I felt conflicted:  happy to see Sam, stressed about how much time it would take and how it would all play out, and envious of Tom who was headed to a fun weekend with friends.  Obviously, I need a break.  Plus, I miss hanging out with friends.

Again, Sam was thrilled to see the girls but wanted to explore outside.  Inside, he kept whimpering.  Now that he knows he has options, I don’t think he likes the small space in our condo.  He paced and whimpered and begged to be taken out as much as possible.  The girls were thrilled to see him, hug him again, but they were sad to see his discontentment and tired of walking him so often and being jerked around so much.  He was great at the door, sitting and waiting to be led out, rather than racing past everyone, and he was better on the leash but still pulled when excited or distracted.  Although he listened better, he was still too full of energy to settle down.  

Again, the cats were curious but jumpy and cautious.  While Thorin appeared more energetic with Sam around, he was lost in the shuffle of Sam’s energy and needs.  Sam was the focus of the weekend, and already we knew, even if we didn't want to admit, that his happiness now lies with Tom and not us; while it’s hard, we want what is best for him.

Show Me the Way

Thorin is still taking medicine.  I open the antibiotic capsule, dump half of it onto a slice of deli meat, wrap it up, and feed it to him.  It’s not the same without Sam wagging his tail, waiting for his treat, and I feel a pang on my heart.

We all sit on the couch in the living room as Thorin races through the house.  Lexi sobs, “It’s not complete.  It’s wrong to just say Thorin cuz it’s Sam and Thorin. It just doesn’t make sense.  He just brings a lot more light to this place, Mom.  We’ve gotta get him back.  He’s ours.  We’ve gotta get him back.  How can this be the right thing for us when it’s putting us through this and we’re losing part of our family?  It feels empty already.  It feels empty.  Having Sam here was the closest thing to having a father here because he’s a protector.”

“What’d you say?”  I’m startled by her connection.

“Sam is a protector, like a dad.”

“Sam’s the best thing I have from my childhood,” Laina cries.  “They’re all I have left.”

Lexi continues, “Thorin’s running back and forth ‘cuz he’s anxious.  It’s literally like losing part of our family again.  Having pets was one of the only secure things we had.  With you and dad fighting and getting divorced, the only secure thing we had was our pets.  Sam makes me feel safe.”

          “It’s true; he does make you feel safe.  You know, when Sam’s there, you just feel safe,” Laina adds.

          “Whenever I’d lie down next to him, and he would put his paw on me I just felt safe in that moment.  It radiates from him.”

          “When I was lying there petting him, he was comforting me.”

          Lexi sobs, “So what does that mean, what does it mean?  Is nothing in life ever secure?  Is there nothing in my life that’s secure?  Is there nothing that can be secure besides God?  Why?  This doesn’t make sense.  I can’t breathe.”

          “I can’t breathe at all,” Laina cries.  “He makes you feel warm and loved even though he can’t say a damn thing.  He can’t say anything to us, but you know that he wants to be with you and love you. It’s cold without him.  There’s not as much life in here anymore.”

          Lexi yells at me. “Talk to us.”

          “I’m listening.  I’m letting you get it all out.”

          “I don’t know,” she says. “It’ll just take the next few days to process this.”

          “Not days,” says Laina.  “I’m never getting over it.”

          “I’m really sorry you’re hurting so much.  This is hard and it sucks and it’s not fair.  It’s okay to be sad and angry and hurt and heartbroken but know that Sam will be okay, and we’ll be okay.”  I stand.  “Come on, girls, let’s pray.”  The three of us lie on the bed, the cats around us, Thorin at our feet.  “God, I confess that we’ve been angry and we’ve been hurt and we’ve been sad.  We’ve been stressed and overwhelmed and I’ve been tense.  We’ve been impatient and I’ve even been in despair.  But, we’ve also been blessed and we’ve learned so much and we’ve been so happy and we’ve had so much fun.  We’ve loved and we’ve been so grateful for this time with the dogs.  No matter what happens, thank you for that.  Please help us with whatever’s supposed to happen.  If it’s the best thing for Sam to go to this family, then please help us accept it and heal and let him bless that family.  If it’s better for him to stay with us, then please provide a way, show us the way. Please help us.  Amen.”

          A long pause.

          Lexi sighs.  “I guess we can find a blessing.  There’s something there.  This is helping me deal with something from my childhood, so it won’t affect me as an adult.”

          The girls focus on finishing homework as quickly as possible.  They cry themselves to sleep while I toss and turn and finally sleep.

“Way leads on to Way”

Run Away or Return Home

          The longing to escape, jump in the car and run away to a deserted island, has returned with the return of Sam and Thorin.  At night, I toss and turn with a racing mind and a body ready for flight.

During the last few years of marriage (when things were unraveling and divorce was imminent), I dreamt of living alone in a house at the beach where I could do whatever I wanted, simple activities like swim in the ocean, walk along the beach, collect seashells, read, write.  Not that I didn’t want to be doing much of what I was doing (being a mother, finishing my MFA degree, etc.), but that I felt like I was doing it all to other people’s timetables and expectations and at the same time being judged short in the process. 

Now that I am revisiting the longing to run away, the yearning to go anywhere but home, I am surprised to discover that what I most wanted/want to escape are my feelings, and I am reminded of the saying, “Wherever you go, there you are.”  Then, like now, I felt overwhelmed to an extreme level, and I felt like I was going crazy.  The pressure of too much responsibility, of taking on too much, of going it alone, of not knowing what to do crushed me.  Also, I lost sight of self and priorities.  I felt as though circumstances were thrust upon me that I had no control over and could do nothing about.  Placed in an impossible situation, I felt powerless, stressed, confused, and inadequate.  Invisible.

While there are many parallels in our current situation, I am grateful for this experience because it is helping me pinpoint, articulate, and process these emotions and because I recognize that it is not the same and that I am not the same.  There are things I can and have done to help the situation, and I am not alone.  Not only do I have many amazing people around me, but also God is with me.  This time, I know that it will be resolved, it will get better, and I will survive it.

The girls are also learning powerful lessons from this experience.  They have missed Sam and Thorin the past three years and have wanted them to come live with us.  Now they are seeing why I said no.  After walking Sam last night, Laina said, “I can’t take this anymore.  I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, and I have scratches and bruises on my arms from Sam pulling on the leash.” 

They are also seeing how one cannot really go back.  Perhaps they imagined an idealized version of reality where having Sam and Thorin live with them again would be recapturing their earlier childhood or where it would be a parent trap and bring their childhood family together again.  I am not discounting the fact that they love the dogs, and if I had a full-time job and we lived in a house with a backyard, it would not even be an issue.  At the same time, our lives are very different now because things change and people change. 

In his poem, “The Road Not Taken,” Robert Frost says:

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

We cannot go back.  Even if we moved back to the same town, the same house, and the same family, we have all grown, changed, moved on.  We are different people with different lives.  Not good or bad different, simply different.  That’s not to say that you shouldn’t ever go back and revisit the past but that you return as a new person. 

          Part of returning to something is seeing who you have become and how far you’ve come.  Transformation is not complete until after a homecoming.  Think of Homer’s Odysseus or Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter.  Having our Missouri dogs transplanted into our Florida lives is a form of homecoming, though I still need to make the trek up north someday soon for a true homecoming.  For now, we are realizing our renewed selves and lives.

          At the same time, I am also longing for home.  The whole purpose behind Nehemiah building the wall was the return and protection of the people.  They uprooted the lives they had built to return home to “their own towns.”  In the study, Kelly Minter writes, “But I am not home, and home is where I am most at rest.”  Home is where we sleep at night.  Home is where we feel most safe.  Home is where our loved ones are.  Home is what is familiar, comfortable, and loved.  

           Here, in Florida, my condo is my home, my girls are my home.  Sunshine, ocean waves, palm trees, and cats are my home.  We have created a safe and happy home here. 

Yet we miss home:  extended family, the autumn air and turning leaves of the Ozarks, Scrabble and Bridge tournaments, the spring buds and robins of Missouri, traditional family events like Apple Butter Day, snow days, and the roaring rivers, towering Oak trees, and colossal cliffs.  

This week’s study of Nehemiah ends with celebration and joy and relates the story of when the people stayed in “booths” (like tents) for a week to remember how far they’d come and how God works in our lives.  Thus, today I reflect on the art of homecoming as well as healing and hope and appreciation.

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Have you ever yearned to run away or longed to return home?  Have you ever experienced both at the same time?! Would love to hear your experiences!!