family

The Boomerang

Posted on by kwundrow

One recent evening, my wife and I were walking in our neighborhood. As we walked by the next yard on that block, my eye caught just a glimpse of the boomerang that lay half hidden in the pile of leaves that had been recently heaped up in the median, waiting for the city to pick them up. In that moment, my mind flashed back to a memory of a sunny fall day with my dad.

I was 10 years old, savoring this day with my dad. In and of itself, it likely doesn’t seem like this should be one of those significant moments that we pull up from our memory bank. It needs some background and some clarification. We were a family of six kids all growing up on the family dairy farm. The general order of things was you get up early and the milking and barn chores begin. If it was winter, you needed to finish up in time for breakfast, get dressed for school, and head off into town. Three o’clock and school gets out, you head back home and repeat the morning cycle of chores, finish up by supper, do your homework, and then off to bed. Summer at least gave us a little variety to the daytime routine. No school meant we had time to get the field work done.

Now do not think all we ever did was work. As a boy growing up, I had my brothers and we were crafty enough to find some play time in between or even while we worked. That last maneuver was one that drove my dad crazy.  I still could hear his voice yelling up to us in the hayloft, “If you worked as hard as you play, all the chores would be done.” Of course, that wasn’t true because there was always something else that had to be fixed, moved, changed, mowed, or whatever. There was an endless supply of chores.

The one truth in all of this work was that though we were sometimes given a little leeway for playtime, dad never really got any. As you can tell, the life of a farmer was and still is a dawn to dusk operation. As a result, I have very few memories of time spent playing with my dad.

This day was different. He had found my crude attempt at making a slingshot. My first thought was that he was about to confiscate it. Instead, he eyed it over, gave it the “good effort” comment, and then to my great surprise and complete delight said it was time he showed me how to make a proper sling shot. I was going to spend quality time, I didn’t know that was what you called it, with my dad making the perfect slingshot. As he explained, we first had to find the right ash tree, and not any old ash, but one with just the right branches. They had to form this perfect “Y” shape, not straight edges, but rather more of a curve where the arms met the handle. I remember hiking through the woods together. In my recall of the memory, I can still smell the dogwood trees and hear the whisper of the trees as the wind moved the branches. It took us the better part of the morning before we found “our perfect ash tree” and even longer for me to shinny up into the branches to retrieve that special one. But that did not bother me. I savored every minute. I was having “not working time” with my dad.

Rubber straps carefully cut from an old bicycle innertube and the stone pouch fashioned from some old cowhide; my slingshot was finished. My weapon of mass destruction, as I prefer to remember it, was ready for firing! After a few shooting lessons from dad and the obvious warning from mom that the moment I broke a window, it would belong to her, interpretation, it would be firewood, I was armed and dangerous.

The good memories are like a warm blanket. They wrap around you and fill you with nostalgia. It is often some place or thing that triggers the memory’s release and you go back in time to the moment or moments that created the memory. That boomerang did what boomerangs do, they come back. For me, it brought that memory back.

There is a second memory associated with that boomerang. This one is not as old, but it is just as rich. My grandchild, Jackson, was maybe six years old. He had seen a boomerang on a TV show and came to me with the question of how could it come back after you threw it? We researched boomerangs. We looked at drawings of how the very exacting curve made it fly in an arc. Finally, we watched YouTube videos on how one needed to throw and release the boomerang. Saturday afternoon arrived none too soon and we were off to the park. Jackson and I must have thrown that boomerang the equivalent distance of a half trip to the moon. Did it come back? Not exactly. But Jackson stuck to it, and eventually, with a little going halfway to meet it, he caught it. I hope that one day, something will trigger the memory of that day for Jackson. When it happens, if it happens, I hope he will remember a day spent playing with his Opa. I hope that he will remember the feel of the grass on his bare feet, the whoosh the boomerang made as he threw it, and that wonderful moment his hand snatched the boomerang from the air as it actually returned!

If there is a lesson here, it would be taking time from work to play. Play with your children. Play with your grandchildren. Make a memory. Make it one that will boomerang back to that grown child so that they can relive that special day when they realized you could still just play.

I will close with a thank you. First, thank you to the child who forgetfully left his boomerang in that leaf pile. But even more importantly, thank you dad. Thank you dad, not just for helping me make a slingshot, but for taking the time out of work that day just to play with me.

One More Trip Down the Rabbit Hole

Posted on by kwundrow

I know that I made a promise that I was done blogging about my cancer trip. However, it seems I need to make at least one more visit to the rabbit hole. If you are needing to catch up or just looking for a recap, my cancer was diagnosed back in October of 2025. In the ensuing ten months, I have visited the UW Health clinic so many times and so consistently that I was considering having my mail delivered there. That is, the stuff that isn’t just the recyclable junk kind.

With a seemingly endless array of doctors and specialists, there was no end to the number of referrals made over that period of time. Today, I met with one more of my doctors. This doctor is one that has been with me for a number of years and has been the one in charge of keeping my arthritis at bay. As we wrapped up my annual appointment, she turned to me and brought up one of the many nagging side effects of the cancer. She explained how she could make a referral to a specialist for treatment and asked if I was interested. In my moment of hesitation, she suddenly did an about face and surprised me with a completely unexpected referral. She decided that what I needed was a break. No more doctor referrals until I was ready. Her prescription for me was to get away. To treat myself and my wife to a trip to anywhere, as long as it meant we got away.

In that moment, she had made the one referral I had truly wanted. She had acknowledged that this was my journey, and in so doing, had given me the opportunity to choose my own path. As I got up to leave, she asked if she could walk out with me. As we arrived at the waiting area, she turned me toward her, thrust her arms forward, and gave me the most healing hug of this long journey I have been on. As the hug continued, she softly said, “I followed your protocol all these months and am so relieved that you have survived.”

Please be assured that I have both appreciated and liked all of the doctors whom I have seen and been seen by. I respect their professionalism and their incredible skill. I thank the UW Health System for providing such a remarkable team. While at times, they all had shown glimpses of this doctor’s incredible empathy, she had just risen a little further above. While practicing her skill, she had not lost sight of the patient. She had recognized the need to not only to heal the physical, she had addressed my emotional need to heal. In that moment of hesitation, she had set aside the protocol and made a diagnosis that could have so easily been missed.

Today, maybe for the first time, I felt a sense of relief, a feeling that maybe I was beginning to regain normal. And, as we drove home, I finally felt a true sense of healing. It is for the healing, it is because I have survived, it is for all the professionals and the care they provided, but especially, it is for Dr Sharkey, that this story needed to be told. Thanks to the fact that I am still standing, I get to be the one to tell it.

My Cancer Journey: The Kindness of Neighbors

Posted on by kwundrow

We are entering the home stretch. Treatment will be completed next Friday. As this journey has progressed, I have gotten considerably weaker and have continued to struggle finding enough calories. Many friends and family have offered to help in whatever way we need them, but so far, we have managed. But that ended tonight. I watched Deb spend all afternoon packing away the Christmas decorations while I sat on the couch. I decided I needed to help out and would tackle taking down and storing our rather large artificial Christmas tree. I first had to separate the three sections of the tree. That done, I would have to get them back in the large storage box. There they would lie silent, waiting for next Christmas. I managed the separation part, but half way through the packing away, the room gave way. In a heartbeat, a very rapid heart beat, I found myself on my back on the floor. After a few scary moments, we decided it was time to call in one of those offers. Tom and Judy, our neighbors across the street, was one of our options. Deb put out the call and within minutes they were there. Tom took over the job of storing the tree while Judy, a retired nurse took charge of me. Thankfully, my heart settled down, my pulse strengthened and my blood pressure looked good. We made it through this time.

I am so grateful to live in a neighborhood where any of my neighbors would have responded the same. The same holds true for each and every promise to step in whether or not the opportunity arose. It’s knowing you would is all I need. It alone gives me strength to keep going.

We have reached the point in this journey when everything is tough. Where pain is constant, and just trying is an effort. But we will make it. Deb will keep up the advocacy along with her own journal. I will keep trying. Together we will see this to the end. Tonight, without Tom and Judy, I’m not sure how it would have ended. At the very least, my tree would be lying in state in our living room. Three separate pieces trying to be whole. I have learned a valuable lesson, If people want to help, I really should let them.

Generational Traditions

Posted on by kwundrow

Christmas may come just once a year, but in all the hurry and busyness leading up to it, it’s easy to lose sight of what it truly means. Across the world, Christmas Day reminds us of the birth of Christ and the hope that entered the world with Him. But to me, Christmas is more than a single date on the calendar—it is a season of the heart. It is a season filled with generosity and kindness, with laughter shared in gatherings and joy found in celebrations. It is the thoughtful exchange of gifts, the comfort of favorite foods and treats, and above all, it is family. It is the blessing of being together, the beauty of connection, and the warmth of a shared family tradition.

When I was growing up, our family tradition was church on Christmas Eve and performing in the children’s presentation of the Christmas Story. After the mandatory delaying tactic visit to my aunt’s home, we would race home to eagerly open our gifts. Empty boxes and piles of wrapping paper later, my brothers and I would retire to coach to watch The Christmas Carol. We would start the movie snuggled in my dad’s arms. Although we didn’t make it to the end of the film, we saw Ebenezer Scrooge begin to change after meeting the three spirits.   Somewhere between the Spirit of the Present and the Spirit of Things yet to Come, sleep would overpower us. Dad would wake us and point us in the direction of our bedroom just as Tiny Tim was uttering his famous line, “God bless us everyone.” Repeated year after year it seeped into my very being. As I grew older, no Christmas was complete without the viewing of The Christmas Carol. When my daughters were born, they were the ones nestled under my arms on the couch and true to tradition, they would never make it to the end. Like my dad, with the movie ending, I would scoop them up and carry them off to their beds.

Through the years my own family has created our version of that tradition from my childhood. Influenced by my dad, my wife and I created our version of that family time during the Christmas season. It started simple with a trip to a movie and a dinner afterward. That first one being Paulie and dinner at TGI Fridays. I still remember watching the snow softly falling as we sat under the glass canopied side table eating dinner. Traditions have that effect of creating memories that are so vivid you remember every aspect of them. Over the years and as our daughters grew, the honoring of the tradition became tickets each year to the theatrical performance of A Christmas Carol. Now grown and parents themselves, they still hold to the core of that tradition, family time together in a Christmas activity. It always includes dressing up, a holdover from the stage performances, and dinner together now all planned by my daughters. Our last one was a stage performance and dinner in Chicago.

Now as the Opa to three grandchildren, the tradition of watching A Christmas Carol is me watching the movie on Christmas Eve as I await the arrival of our children and their families Christmas morn. But know this, it is my goal to follow the tradition with my grandchildren even if I must drag them to the couch, bribe them with treats, and force them to watch. I will let the movie do the rest. God bless them all.

My Cancer Journey: Somethings Not Right Here

Posted on by kwundrow

T – 14 and counting

Four weeks in, with still 14 days to go. The good news is I get Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off next week, and I may even get out of one chemo treatment. I’m almost giddy thinking about it—though maybe that’s just the weight loss making me feel lighter. I’m officially back to the weight I was when they issued those old drinking IDs. Remember those? If not, you really missed out on a strange little era of draft cards and drinking licenses. Mine was worn thin from how often I had to pull it out. Anyway… I started treatment at 180 pounds. This morning I was 167. Quite the weight-loss program.

There are reasons cancer treatment takes the pounds off. Part of it is the tumor just wearing me down. Part of it is my throat not exactly loving the idea of swallowing food—more on that in a minute. But honestly, the biggest problem is taste. You don’t realize how much taste matters until it disappears.

When we enjoy food, it’s never just one sense. We see it first and remember what it should taste like. Then we smell it, and that makes us even more excited. Sometimes we even feel it—like a hot dog in a bun—before we finally get to that first bite. And when the taste matches or beats our expectations, it’s wonderful. When it doesn’t, everything falls apart pretty quickly.

Now picture your favorite pie. It looks amazing. It smells perfect. You’re ready for that first bite. For me, it’s pumpkin pie with a generous pile of whipped cream. That first bite is everything I hoped for—warm, creamy, delicious. Then I take a second bite… and suddenly it’s like a completely different pie. It tastes old, wrong, almost spoiled. It’s so awful I push the plate away and try not to give that bite back the way it came.

That’s what treatment has done to my taste buds. It isn’t really the tumor or pain that’s caused the big weight loss—it’s the fact that food just doesn’t taste right anymore. So now I’m living on things like cream of wheat and oatmeal. Bland foods, little expectation, fewer disappointments. I miss my favorites—pie, desserts, chocolate. And the hardest part is the food friends have lovingly brought us. Their hearts are in every dish. Many of them are proud of these meals, and I wish I could enjoy them the way they hoped I would. But most of the time I barely make it past a first bite. I worry it makes me look rude, but it’s just the reality right now.

So that’s my confession. I appreciate every gesture. Truly. I just can’t eat most of it. If there’s one upside, I probably did need to lose a few pounds—the tumor just got a little too enthusiastic about it. And when all of this is over and my taste finally returns, we’ll have a freezer full of meals waiting for me.

My Cancer Journey: Shrinkage is Good

Posted on by kwundrow

T- 17 and halfway point reached. Today we had both chemo and radiation treatments. This meant we were able to speak with both doctors in charge of my treatment and the take away, is good news. At the very least that is what Deb and I heard.

The tumor has started to shrink, which has ramifications for what’s next. Radiology will reset their markers and be able to focus the radiation away from the muscles of my tongue. This could mean a lessening of the pain I endure when I try to swallow anything I eat. Because the magnesium pill I take is very difficult to swallow, the radiologist recommended getting my magnesium through gummies. He has also okayed, almost recommended, switching to THC gummies to get the added benefit of increased appetite and some relief to my now long gone taste. That recommendation has not been completely accepted by my head nurse, Deb, but we’re working on it.

On the oncology side, we are being given a chemo holiday next week, perfect timing there, due in part to my platelet count dropping below the threshold for safe administering of chemo. Still, the good news is that we may only need one more session of chemo even with the one-week skip.

This is good news and it leads me to the first of my cancer treatment rules. For fans of HGTV, you may recognize my shameless use of the “Vacation House Rules” program.

Rule #1.  Find your support team

The temptation is to keep everything to yourself and just go it alone. This is a mistake. People want to feel useful when you get handed this crappy diagnosis. To deny them that chance isn’t fair to them and you. On top of that, you will be wasting a valuable and well-deserved side benefit. Don’t suffer alone, drag your friends in. I was kidding there. Ironically, they will thank you later for honoring them with the chance to show they really care. Now who doesn’t want that feeling? It’s a win win situation and when you have cancer take all the wins you can. Which leads me to my next cancer treatment rules.

Rule #2. Attitude is everything

You weren’t looking for this gift of cancer, but you also can’t walk away from it. The first thing that goes is your whole outlook on everything. That is to be understood. There is a boat load of hard work, discomfort, to put it lightly, and a tsunami of information appointments coming at you. Attitude is critical now. You can give into your cancer, or you can start finding a way through this. You do just that, if you look for the positives. The team of clinicians and doctors assigned to you will do everything they can to fight your cancer. There are even doctors on your team that  to guide you through that maze that the whole protocol created. Lean on friends, see Rule #1, and take each day as it comes. Find the reasons to smile, something worked, something felt a little better, or you just reconnected with a friend who found out you were in need. The little things matter. And that leads me to cancer treatment rule three.

Rule #3. Put in the work

Don’t let anyone tell you this will be easy. It won’t be. Cancer needs to be beaten, not ignored, not taken for granted, and certainly not coddled. You have to do the work. If you have to get up early every day to drive in to the clinic, don’t make your partner drag you out of bed. When they lay out the treatment schedule, get a handle on it. Prepare ahead mentally for what that day will bring. Being ready is good for you and the team. If this whole journey is going to end successfully, it is the effort you put in that will get it there. Prescription is half the battle. You still need to take the medicine. And that leads me to my final rule.

Rule #4. Follow the plan

Cancer is a team sport. Your team has multiple members. Your quarterbacks: the doctors, your running backs: the nurses, your offensive line: your friends and family keeping you safe through the process, your center: this is your most trusted partner, the person who will take charge of the battle at home. This team will collectively lay out a plan for tackling your cancer.  You need to trust these people to have your best interest at heart and because you trust them, follow the plan. There will be days when you might not want to do what’s being prescribed, but if it’s part of the plan, do the work. You are going to beat this. That’s part of the plan.

Deb and I got good news today. I can tell you that it is in no small part due to these four rules. My fight isn’t done but my attitude, my team, and the plan are getting it done. Tomorrow is day seventeen. Bring it on.

My Cancer Journey: Riding the Chemo Express

Posted on by kwundrow

December 5th

T – 24 and I am on the ride. My cancer treatment consists of two parts. The first is radiation and the second, chemo. It’s chemo lag day, at least that is what I’ve named it. I soaked in my second serving of chemo three days ago and as predicted by those in the know, I am feeling it. Chemo will do its best to kill the tumor, but the downside is that it takes its toll on the body.

The effects of my first serving of the chemo were hardly noteworthy. I barely noticed anything different than the radiation effects. This second serving is markedly different. It has left me feeling like I just got over the 24-hour flu with its chills, aches, nausea, and fatigue. My activities take place in short bursts of energy followed up with fatigue. The only upside has been the weekend pass Deb has granted me. In her role as resident in charge, Deb has ordered me to take the day easy, watch TV, and allow her to wait on me, hand and foot. This order is one I can manage. For now, I will take small comfort knowing I have survived my first two legs of the Chemo Express.

I boarded The Chemo Express two weeks ago and I am now destined to ride it to the end. Only two days ago, I was at the top looking down into the loop. Today I am in the loop, upside down, and waiting to head back down to the bottom. As my car starts back up the track on Monday, I know full well that the scariest part of this ride still lies ahead. The climbs will get steeper and the loops will get tighter, but I have no choice other than to hang on and let Deb and my friends be my seatbelt.

There is no way that anyone can or should go through this alone. Though there is a team of medical people standing by, it is the nonmedical stuff that can be the toughest. With every passing day, I will have missed another event or lost the taste of another one of my favorite foods.  This ride is tough in so many ways, but it’s survivable. Every day, I hear from friends asking what they can do to help. I wish there was an easy answer, but there isn’t. I appreciate all the messages of encouragement, the prayers, and offers to drive me to treatment. In truth, I’ve had so many offers of a ride, I may have to extend my treatments to get them all in. And here’s a thought, once I lick this thing, can I continue to take advantage of the taxi service?

I understand the “what can I do” inquiries, I’ve been there too, just now I’m on the other side. Please know this, everything you do, from sending an email, to checking in, or the offer of a meal, is important to me. They build my resolve to see this through the rough spots, to stay on the ride to its end. It’s incredible how strength exists in just saying the words.

The best thing you can do for a person dealing with cancer is to be there. You do it with every effort you make, with every prayer you offer. Whether you really get to drive me to treatment or not, know that the offer alone was all I needed. Knowing that you would sit beside me on the Chemo Express is all that’s needed to guarantee I won’t fall off.

A Magical Invitation

Posted on by kwundrow

It had been one of those days. It seemed like every time I got one task completed, the next one fell in my lap. I was leaving a late evening meeting, when she called. I had planned on going home and relaxing, when I saw the missed call from my daughter. My mind ran through the scenarios, ranging from just checking in to needing my help. As my finger poised over the call back option, I entertained letting it go until morning, but could I? The answer to that was I couldn’t, and I called her back.

When she answered, it was obvious she was excited about something. I gathered through her giddiness that she was with my son-in-law and granddaughter in the countryside watching the northern lights.  She was inviting me to come join them and strangely, I was considering turning down her invitation. In my defense, I was tired and it was getting late. It would be a thirty-minute drive and I would have to find this field in the middle of nowhere. I had seen northern lights before and this far south, they were never that impressive, at least for me. But she was so insistent, and my decision was made.

It was all of the thirty-minute drive and without GPS, it would have been a task to find them. They were out in a large, recently picked corn field found just off a barely two-lane country road. As I got out of the car, my daughter approached. “They just stopped she proclaimed, but we are hoping they will start back up soon.” Great, I thought, this is going to turn out like all my other efforts to see northern lights. Just then it happened. It was as if someone had suddenly flipped a light switch in a dark room. The sky filled with reds and greens, shimmering and growing brighter with every passing second. There were towers of red streaming straight up like fireworks. Sometimes, the sky was filled with fan-like displays. The reds faded to orange, and then the greens filled in the gaps. It was a mesmerizing display.

I spent over an hour out there in that field. My daughter and granddaughter were at my side. We stared in awe at the night sky. The northern lights display would have been well worth the effort on its own. But, as I stood there with them, it became clear to me what a gift I would have passed up. She was insistent on my coming out. How had I not realized the true reason I had to come out there? This was what every father craves. It was her invitation to join her. The adventure is so important to her that she needs you there to share it with her.

Standing out in a corn field looking up at the night sky was special because I shared it with her. That invitation I almost ignored made the adventure sweeter, made the experience deeper, made the evening memorable. I can only hope that there will be more invitations, more adventures to share. And above all, that I wouldn’t ever fail to accept that invitation when it comes.