So, over the next few months I began using them. One in the car, one in my purse. One on the nightstand, you get the picture. Then I happened to open one and got not quite what I was expecting...in a good way. I opened a ChapStick original (you know, the pink kind with the black label, the most boring yet reliable flavor in the world?!) and the smell just hit me. It took me right back to being a kid and riding in my Uncle Cliff's truck home from church with him and using his black chapstick (while checking out all the other cool things in a bachelor uncle's truck).
Uncle Cliff (Staudinger) was my Dad's oldest brother. He would turn 70 this year in April, but died at age 47 from esophageal cancer. He was the only sibling that never married, thus spoiled us nieces and nephews quite nicely. He was a farmer, and prior to that drove a car carrier for many years (he would be my boys hero if he still was around and did that for a living!) He lived 3 miles from us, and did our farming for us since my Dad had a business to run in those days. We loved riding in the tractor with him or playing in the grain of the grain truck while the bed was dumping out the grain as it was unloading. (Mom hated that we did it because barley has burrs that would stick to our clothes and wouldn't come out very well), but Uncle Cliff let us. He would always ask us, "so, what did you learn in school today?" to which we'd reply, "nothing" and he'd answer, "well, I don't see much sense in going if you don't learn anything!" We still had to go though!
He had 6 vehicles, all of which were licensed and he drove regularly. 3 cars and 3 trucks. At his house you could jump on the bed endlessly and twirl the glass chandelier (in the guest room) all up and then let it go so it spilled fancy light shapes all over the room and no one minded. We never had to wear seatbelts when we rode with him (it wasn't the law in Alberta back then, but Mom made us anyhow).
The day he was diagnosed with cancer, I remember all too well. We were eating supper when we got the phone call. We had spinach that night, which was hard enough to choke down on a good day, and then after that gut wrenching news, was impossible to get down. I was barely 14, having a rough year starting high school anyhow, and that didn't help the problem. He had surgery, but there was one area in his stomach that wouldn't heal up, so he remained in the hospital on TPN (total parenteral nutrition via IV) since he couldn't eat. He was in the hospital probably 5 months when he then went home to my Grandpa and Grandma's house for care. He still thought he'd get better, but by then the cancer had spread to his liver. He was amazingly optimistic, but lost alot of weight and in the end was very jaundiced. He never pitied himself for being sick, but instead looked on the positives namely 1) he was living in this world and a certain number of people get cancer, and he happened to be one of them. 2) he was single, so if he died, he was glad that he wouldn't be leaving a widow or fatherless children as any of his siblings would have been 3) he was a Christian and would spend eternity with his Savior.
The biggest guilt I have ever held in my life, happened the week he died. It was a huge burden, and it took many years before I even had the courage to mention it to anyone, to lighten the load of guilt. Our whole family was over at my grandparents for dinner (all the cousins, aunts and uncles, etc), so us kids were asked to stay outside since Cliff was so weak. Right before we were to go home for the day, I ran inside to use the bathroom. Cliff was sitting in a recliner and said "hi, Rachel" as I ran by. I didn't want to see him looking so sickly, so I kept running calling "hi" over my shoulder as I ran. I could tell he wanted me to stop, but I ran right back outside and we went home. On the way home, I started to feel bad for not stopping and giving him a hug or small amount of my time. I realized that even though he looked so sick, he was still the same person inside. I vowed that next time we saw him, I'd spend time with him, even though it was hard. That was Sunday, and he passed away on Tuesday. I never got that chance. It was probably 5 years before I told anybody about it, and became bitter not only because of my own ignorance, but because of my selfish notions at age 14 about death. Why did I have to lose him? (not even caring that my Dad lost his brother, or my grandparents lost their child) It was all about me. It took a long time to heal due to my teenage selfish thoughts. In nursing school we studied death and dying, and I learned alot and vowed that if I ever faced death again, I would be open and honest and not hold all those feelings and emotions inside. Little did I know I'd be faced with the death of my 2 cousins the very next year. Healing that time was much more smooth and healthy even though their deaths were unexpected and tragic.
I seem to be veering away from the topic, but that's where my thoughts have gone today. I am thankful for the time with my Uncle Cliff, and after he died, my Grandpa told me "you were his favorite niece". I took that as a great compliment, and later found out why. When my parents moved back to Alberta from the Northwest Territories, we moved in with Cliff until we found a place to live. I was about 18 months old, and he and I became best friends. He'd tease me and I'd laugh, I'd tease him back. It went like that my whole life and he always called me his "Wascally Wabbit" (Rascally Rabbit).
So there it is, all over a little tube of ChapStick Original that I found at Prospector's!



















