A year ago today, I had a feeling to go see my dad mid afternoon – something I never do. I picked some tomatoes from the garden, grabbed a couple of double double coffees from Sweetness and drove to NF where he has been in a nursing home under hospice care. When I arrived, he was awake and hanging out with my mom… alert and fairly happy.
We drank our coffees and asked me how the painting was coming on my house. I complained that I couldn’t finish painting the peak and railings because I was short and afraid of heights…. and he lost it! My dad (who wasn’t ever known for giving advice) loudly said I should never give in because of my size and that I just had to find the right tools. He told me to get a good ladder, a couple of extender polls and duct tape and make it work. “You’re a Radle”… is something he proudly said to me many times. He wasn’t a big guy but managed to paint houses, fix roofs, etc…all his life. He refused to let me give in. I agreed – he was right.
He passed away the next morning.
Once the dust settled down, I knew what I had to do. I bought myself a fancy ladder and better tools, gathered the courage needed and finished nearly all the hard painting this summer – except the peak. This time it wasn’t ignored or delayed by fear, it’s just been timing but no worries, I’ll get to it soon, I’m sure.
I miss him more than I ever thought I would but I’m thankful for being a “Radle”.