Three years ago I called my dad the day before his birthday to talk about coming over to celebrate (my mother and father were never married and had separated when I was young) He told me he would be out of town all weekend and would be back on sunday. When sunday came i called him to see if he was back but there was no pickup on his home phone (he had no cell phone) I called multiple times all day but there was no answer. Friends and family said he had probably gotten caught up out of town and decided to stay longer but they were wrong. This went on for a week before family and friends began looking for him. His house was searched but they found no evidence of where he was and so another week passed. My family had wanted me to take my mind off of things, the re assured me he was OK and they had me go and visit a friend who had a camp on a lake to take my mind off of it. When i returned from camp there were a lot of cars in the driveway to my home. I asked my mother why so many people were here and she took me aside to speak to me. She told me that my father had been found. He was in the one place of his home they hadn’t searched , the basement (which vould only be accessed from the outside and was very small) apparently while i was at camp they had re searched his house and when they went to check the basement they could not get the door open and had o break it down. He had boaded up the door to the basement from the inside and killed himself. When he was found he had with him a picture of me and a bible. He was determined to have been dead since they day after i had spoken to him on the phone. I was a wreck hearing all of this. My father was always the goofy person, always cracking jokes. He never seemed to have any depression or other underlying issues. I cried for a logn time. I still cry. It isn’t only the fact that My father isgone, but that I feel i could have stopped this. when my parents broke up it was decided that i would go to my father’s house on weekends and be with my mother during the week but as i got older i started going less and less. I would be bored at my father’s house and (eventhough i would just stay home and play video games at my mom’s house) I would make up reasons that i could not go over to my dad’s house. I ended up going every other week or sometimes less (more like one weekend at my father’s then the next two at my mothers) I never realized how much this must have hurt my father. He hardly got to see me as is (2 days a week) and then I would be coming over less and less. Now that he is gone I can’t help but cry because now I see how I took him for granted. I thought he would always be here, that it was ‘no big deal’ choosing not to go to dad’s house. Now that he is gone I wish I had been with him more, because I’ll never see him again. I’ll never hear his corny jokes, never watch him dance around when he won at a board game, never watch football with him. I can’t help but think that me (being his only child) should have been there for him. I will never know why he did it but i can’t help feeling that it is all my fault. He was all alone and his only kid didn’t even want to go see him very often. eventhough it is 3 years later i still cry when i talk about him, especially to anyone new but when i do it feels like taking a load off my heart. I can’t change the past but that won’t stop me from wishing to do so. If i was more present in his life maybe things would have been different, maybe i would have seen signs of something being wrong. I wasn’t there for my dad enough and now he is gone and i’ll never see him again.