I had always heard of funerals, but I'd never had the actual experience of attending one - until Oct. 2, that is.

All throughout my life, family has been sewn in everywhere. Every holiday we gather together, and every member's birthday is celebrated. One of our very favorite birthdays to attend was my great uncle Louis'.

Louis was born in 1931 with cerebral palsy. Back in that time, it wasn't nearly as common as it is today. His inabilities left him different and somewhat rejected due to the disease. Yet, all throughout his life, his little brother -- my grandfather -- was there for him. Usually it's the little brother being watched by the older brother, but in this situation, the roles were reversed.

Eventually, Louis ended up in a nursing home; it's what he wanted. He wouldn't stand for invading his brother's home, or anyone's for that matter, though, none of us would have considered it an invasion.

Every year on his birthday, Nov. 19, the entire family would drive to Fairfax, Va. and be there to celebrate yet another year with him. Every birthday was an extremely big deal seeing as his doctors proclaimed that he wouldn't even make it to 30.

Whether we shared stories, made jokes or ate cake, Louis was always happy. He may actually have been the happiest person I've ever met. It truly amazed me how someone with such inabilities could be so happy. He couldn't do so many things being bound to a wheelchair the majority of his life, but he lived to the fullest even still.

On Sept. 16, my mom's phone started ringing. Louis was in terrible condition, and it was only a matter of time before he would be gone.

My stepdad strongly felt that it was a bad idea for me to go; he felt that I wasn't ready for this kind of trauma. Luckily, my mother didn't agree. We explained to him everything about what Louis had been through and what we had gone through with him as well as the reasons why I needed to be there.

When my mom and I got in the car to go see him, she took a deep breath. "This is probably going to be more than you can handle, but I'm glad you want to see him. Regardless of how it may make you feel, this will brighten his day."

It was true. When we arrived, I was the first one in the room, and he was just lying there. The tears immediately started welling, but I did my best to cover them up. I didn't want to make this a time for me to be comforted. I needed it to be a time for Louis.

I sat there with him for hours, and all that time, the only time he said a word was when I brought up the Cleveland Indians, which we were watching on T.V. at the time. They were his favorite team. I will never forget that, the last words he said to me will be with me always, as simple and meaningless as they may seem.

On Oct. 2, we drove to Louis's funeral. As I went to open my door, I took a deep breath, not quite sure how I would handle what was to come. I stepped out of the car, and my family was in a big circle by the church doors.

They were talking, and smiles were strewn about. This bewildered me. How could you smile when your uncle had just died? As I approached them, I realized they were smiling because they were talking about Louis.

Right as I walked through the church doors, I felt the welling begin, and as I approached the pulpit, a tear slipped over and ran down my cheek. Before the ceremony began, we were given the chance to look at pictures from his childhood and the things that meant the most to him. We then had to take our seats; I hustled right over to my Uncle Mark. He's always been there for me; he's practically another father figure.

As we sat, the ceremony began. The pastor talked of all the thing's Louis had accomplished throughout his life and how God knew he couldn't live life like everyone else so he gave him extra time to live his life to the fullest. The room was permeated with sadness and sobs. It was the worst experience I've ever had, yet I was still able to smile along with everyone else when we talked about Uncle Louis.

When I was about to get into the car, my grandma came running over to catch me before I was gone. In her hand was an envelope. She gave it to me, hugged me, told me she loved me and walked away. As I opened the envelope, I wondered what could be inside. I opened it carefully, making sure not to tear whatever was in side.

Slowly, I pulled out a picture. The sight made me cry even more. It was my sister, all of my cousins, Louis and I about eight years ago, and there Louis sat with the biggest grin on his face.