"He looks like me. Mom, I should have tried to see him." These were my words as I looked at my biological father lying in his coffin. His name was Larry James and he lived in Utah. I hadn't seen him in years. It was spring of last year. The evening was quiet and I was trying to concentrate on my chemistry homework, which was becoming incredibly tedious. The sudden ringing of the phone broke the calm. No one shouted downstairs, so I knew it wasn't for me. However, after a few minutes my mother came down with a serious look on her face, we need to talk. At first I was like, “Oh great, what have I done now?” Then I realized she was crying. “Tanya, your Aunt Linda just called.” My aunt Linda, I had never heard of her. “Your father, Larry, died last night.” I was numb; I didn't know what to think or feel. My mother continued talking, but the whole conversation seemed unreal. She told me that he had committed suicide and that the funeral would be on Friday. I had to decide if I wanted to go. After he left, my emotions took over me. I broke down and started crying. Not just any soft, short cry, but a tearful, shuddering sob. I didn't even know why I was crying. After all, I really didn't know him. Yet I still felt like he was a part of me. All I could think about was that the next time I went to Utah I would try to see him and it would never happen. Even though I didn't really know him, I still decided to go to the funeral because I thought I needed closure. The four hour drive from Hotchkiss to Utah seemed to take forever. In my mind, I kept thinking that my father was dead and that I would never truly know him. I tried to remember him, but my only memories were of him in the middle of a sheet of paper. Larry meant a lot to her, so she was really upset. She recognized me, however, which was surprising given that she suffered from Alzheimer's disease and hadn't seen me in over two years. Even though I didn't really get to know my father, being with his family made me feel closer to him. After the dinner following the funeral, my mother and I said goodbye to everyone. Later that night, my mother and I started reminiscing about Larry. I wanted her to tell me more details about him than she had shared with me before. Instead of telling me, she showed it to me. There were photos of my mother and him on their wedding day and the reception afterward. The image that stuck in my mind was one where Larry, my mother and I were actually a family. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I told my mother, “Mom, I never knew him and I could have prevented this.” I should have tried to see it.."