I remember walking into the living room and looking at a man who was just skin and bones. He was a frail young man, just 42 years of age that loved baseball and would never be seen sitting down. As he lay there, motionless, I could not help but to recall some of the joyous memories I had experienced with him. Yet, his pale face and cold eyes painted the most vivid memory of all in my head. I tried my hardest not to cry, but I couldn't hold back as my body convulsed with sobs and tears. Amidst my emotional outbursts, I found peace in the fact that his stare was tranquil. I was able to rest easier knowing that my uncle whom I loved so much was not in any pain. In my life since my uncle's death I have faced a few family deaths, but his death effected me the most.
             Michael Allen Magness, better known as Mike, was born December 8, 1956. He was one of six children. Not only was he my uncle, he was a beloved husband and father of two. Mike was an avid baseball fan, who wouldn't dream of missing a game. Fourth of July and Superbowl Sunday's were the two occasions spent at his house with him as the extroverted and charismatic host.
             Uncle Mike worked as a truck driver for the Coca-Cola Company for five years. While working in the field, he hurt his knee and was sent to the doctors for knee surgery. Before surgery, as normal procedures, the doctor performed routine chest x-rays to make sure all of his functioning was normal. After taking the chest x-rays, a spot was found on his chest. He was sent to countless doctors to find out what it was. The doctors finally confirmed that it was lung cancer. My uncle was told that he had three months to live. The doctors gave him a hospital bed and morphine for the pain.
             Shortly after learning of this tragedy, the family had a get together at my uncle's home. The whole family talked to Mike,
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