and my traders of kind

So in the course of a few hours I "met" 2 men who were very close, best friends with my father. My biological father. The one who died when I was 5, almost 6. I hate having to classify it like that. But it is what it is.

I'm also completely weirded out right now. So many what ifs. These men were both in their late 60s-early 70s. What would have been my dad's age. The one that I saw drove this incredibly cool British car. A Triumph. He would have loved my MINI. The other wouldn't stop hugging me. Knew my mom very well. Was with my dad when he died, "at 3am."

How have I gone this long without knowing that my dad died at 3am?

My mother said "Doesn't she look just like Mark and Jeff?"

How have I gone this long without knowing that I look like my 2 brothers who won't speak to me.

Everyone wonders why my notions of family are so, different.

I don't know how to feel. I'm full of questions, but like an outsider. Like one typing up the obit, not one writing it. I can't even say that I'm very sentimental, but I do so long to be.

This is what it's like to be me a lot of the times. Total strangers walking up to me saying how much I look like my father. A Perry. The man who put my dress on backwards for the only family photo I ever took with him. Right before he died. I had a bowl haircut that he gave me, way before my hair started to curl from puberty.

How am I supposed to feel right now? How.