My dad died on April 26th, 2014. The funeral was a few days later, and I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to react. It was strange because I hadn't heard from him in years, but after hearing my dad overdosed I started wonder the years in which my dad was absent from my life made a difference to me at all. My family told me to skip a week of school because of how heavy our hearts were. I took up the offer but only missed 4. I didn't think I had a right to miss that much considering he hadn't been a part of my life for many years, but it still left a heavy burden that I'm not too sure will completely vanish. My mom and I spent hours flipping through photo albums in search of the perfect photos of my dad and us to place in the coffin as a way for him to acknowledge that his spirit will never die out. At the funeral I remember hugging my relatives and hearing, "I'm so sorry." I didn't have much to say. We were all sorry in more ways than we had imagined to be. I've blocked out that bitter day, but I do remember bits and pieces of it. I remember holding my cousins while sobbing and hysterically shaking. They told me it was going to be okay as long as we were together. I couldn't break the sadness, and I didn't think I had any reason not to feel heartbroken. This was my dad. This was somebody who would never walk me down the aisle much less know who I've grown up to be. We all had the offer to place dirt on my dad's coffin. My hands were shaking uncontrollably as my uncle held the shovel with me. The thought of burying my dad at 16 is something I will never get over. It occurred to me that this was actually happening, but after the funeral  I couldn't quite understand that my dad was gone. It was new to me—a concept I never truly comprehended until around the 3rd or 4th month of his death. I suppose I was still in a state of shock. However, if I hadn't had family to support me in my darkest hour, I wouldn't have been able to get through these brutal months of coping with this loss and understanding what it means to be a family. My cousin Shannon ordered us to have a discussion after the funeral. She told us that family is the most important part of life and that we're all here to support us. It's been 5 months since that day, and I still think of it. I think of my dad often and how this has tremendously affected me. I'm restricted to plenty because of his addiction, but I don't blame my mom for raising me the way that she has. Neither my mom nor I want me to live with his addiction; I can only hope that I gather the will power to say no. Addiction is a difficult thing to understand, but more importantly it is more difficult to get over. Take a look at my dad. People who struggle with their addiction don't want to believe in resurrection. They need support to break free from their demons, and that was something my dad just never had. We were too busy living our own lives to worry about fixing his. I was sorry that I was too young to understand what was going on, but I hope he knows I understand it now. And I will never walk in the same direction he did because I know he would never want the same for me. Even though my dad was an addict, that doesn't mean he didn't have a heart to love me.