Skip to main content

Michele Lucille (Ball) Smith

Heartbroken, in tears, at a complete loss for words . . . it can’t be!

This was my overwhelming and immediate gut-wrenching reaction when I received the following text message at 10:46 a.m. on October 9, 2019. “Your sister is no longer with us.”

“But, she was recovering?!”

Just a few days prior, her personal team of doctors; heart, lung, 24/7 on-duty nurse, ECMO technicians, and an arsenal of other specialists at the University of Chicago Medical Center were optimistic - what happened, why - how is this possible . . . So many thoughts and emotions poured through my entire being. 

“She's Tough,” said the doctors. Michele beat the odds and made it through a complication in her condition that required surgery to remove a blood clot and fluid buildup on her heart.

I had just returned home from the Chicago hospital. And said to my wife Lori, “She regained consciousness, recognized me, and blew me a kiss.”

Really, my beautiful Lil' sister Michele Lucille (Ball) Smith, at 53 years young, was gone! Mercifully she is no longer suffering.

About two years ago, Michele was diagnosed with a rare form of  Pulmonary Hypertension. Admittedly, we really did not know what that meant and, when we looked it up, did not comprehend the seriousness or consequences of the disease.

Michele was a devoted wife to Harold Smith and the mother of two strapping young men, Evan and Cole. Together with her friend, companion, and husband, she had raised her boys on a farm in the small rural community of Monterey, IL. To say she was an animal lover was an understatement. Her boys grew up with pets; dogs, cats, chickens, horses, ducks, hogs, cows, raccoons, you name it they took them in. Strays, homeless, and abandoned animals.

You see, my sisters' true calling was as a Veterinary Technician (Vet Tech) for the Spoon River Animal Clinic for over 20 years. She possessed the practical knowledge of a veterinarian with no formal degree or veterinary license. Admittedly, everyone in the county would tell you, “Those doctors at that Clinic, they rely on Michele’s expertise and loving care to administer whatever it takes.” That was proven to all when she was hospitalized and airlifted to the Chicago Medical Center.

“We’ve never seen anything like this,” the doctors would say.

The outpouring of love; cards, gifts, mail, packages, text messages, visitors, well-wishers, and Facebook posts. The devotion of her husband, Harold, who never left her side (he never left the hospital, never went outside) for over six weeks. And Sharon Smith, her Godly mother-in-law who was there (with unwavering faith) to support her son, practically the entire stay at the hospital. What devotion, what faith!

Michele Lucille Ball was born in Canton, IL., on December 19, 1965. An early Christmas gift for our family. Raising three young boys at that time, Patrick, Ronald, and Rodger, was an enormous challenge for my parents. But Mom wanted a girl. Turns out secretly I think Dad probably did too. She was named after my mother's best friend growing up in Lagord, France, Micheline, the spelling of her name comes from the French Michèle. Contrary to what everyone in the U.S. believed, her middle name was taken from my maternal grandmother, Lucienne Marie Fernande Bontemps, not Lucille Ball.

Of course, we were convinced that the song Michelle by The Beatles was written specifically for her in 1965. We would sing it to her, as a tiny baby, with Mom improvising the French lyrics.

As a young girl, Michele traveled to France (we all did) with our Mother to meet family and learn her French heritage. With the advent of Facebook, she would correspond regularly with our cousin, about Michele’s age, Virginie Bontemps, who had moved to Paris.

Growing up in the small Midwestern town of Cuba, IL. We had stories like this one shared on Facebook by Wanda May (Taylor) Estrada: 

“The one memory that has been with me was when we went sledding down the big hill at Cuba's old baseball field. It was freezing, but we still went. After about an hour or so, Michele and I were frozen; we could hardly walk. You had to pull us all the way home on the sled. Your Mom made hot chocolate, and she always made the best too.”

As with all families, our lives went separate ways. When Michele was 11, I left home to attend college. After college, I moved to California. For years we would invite her to come to California to visit. As you can see from the photo, Michele did come to California to be one of the Maids of Honor at our wedding.

A year later, we returned home to see her marry a fun-loving, hard-working, and supportive young man (Harold). Among her many accomplishments, she would raise two fine young men and care for hundreds of animals. One of her true passions was horses; the family would attend rodeos, go on trail rides in Colorado. She became a true cowgirl. Together they built a wonderful life in that small rural community in Central Illinois.

How do I know that because I witnessed the outpouring of love and stories from family, friends, neighbors, church members, and complete strangers! Cards, gifts, mail, packages, text messages, visitors, well-wishers, and Facebook posts from all over the world.

You will never know how your life affects others. 

Thank you all for your prayers and condolences. My Lil’ sister is now riding with the angels, “On pony she named Wildfire.” God's speed, Michele - you will always be loved.

Patrick Ball
October 12, 2019

Comments

Anonymous said…
So sorry to hear of her passing. My neice Tina was her cousin in law and best friend. I remember what a sweet little girl she was. She was very loved by all who knew her. - Garnet Louise ( Lefler) Freitag
Unknown said…
I was in shock to learn that Michele has passed away, and so very sad. Michele was a Beautiful lady, sweet and kind, she truly loved All animals. Such a Sweet special lady, taken way too soon. Sending thoughts and prayers, and my most sincere sympathy and condolences to her family and loved ones.
I was a few grades ahead of her in school, grew up with her and her brothers,I have known her my whole life, and she has always been a sweet, loving, person, and always a smile on her face, even when she felt bad. I am so sad to know that we will never see her again. Thinking of you all during this most difficult time. Take comfort that shes no longer suffering, and now at peace. Fly High Michele Ball Smith, and I know that God has already Blessed your soul. This Special Cowgirl will truly be missed by so many people and animals.
Don Hanley said…
Hi Patrick: I didn't read this earlier because I thought it was about THE Lucille Ball, the actress whom I did not like. Now I'm wondering if you not mentioning this at first was a gift to me and others to realize that a wonderful life is not influenced by notoriety. Thanks, Don Hanley

Most Popular of All Time

Patience – the Only First-Class Ticket

In this episode, Why Patience is the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience, calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. ⌚ The Wristwatch Wars Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

Up the Rhône

Up the Rhône by Patrick Ball We booked a fine cruise up the Rhône — what a treat! With iPhones, lanyards, and schedules so neat. They promised us peace and a mind that would mend, But each calm beginning had chores at the end! "Now breakfast at seven! At eight, take the view!" At nine, there's a lecture on ' What Tourists Do!' At noon, there's a tasting (you must love the cheese), Then hurry to nap time — as corporate decrees! I followed that plan till my patience ran dry. The Rhône softly chuckled, "Oh my, oh my, my! You've missed half my sparkles, my ripples, my tone— You're busy pretending you've peacefully grown!" So I fired my planner and banished my clock. I tossed my agenda right off the dock! I let the wind tickle my schedule away, and drifted through hours that danced where they may. I chatted with swans, had no notion of when, I'd nibble, or nap, or go roaming again. No Wi-Fi! No meetings! No planning! No fuss! Just me and ...

Journey to Avignon (Part II)

🇫🇷 Lost in Transition: Our Journey to Avignon (Part II) When plans derail, sometimes the story gets better. "Mais attendez… peut-être…" the agent murmured, fingers flying across her keyboard. Lori and I leaned in, holding our breath. She frowned, typed again, then sighed. "With this disruption, all trains have been rerouted—and they're already full." We exchanged glances. Around us, the Gare de Lyon pulsed with energy: travelers clutching tickets, voices echoing, the scent of exasperation drifting through the chaos. It felt like the entire station had been swept into the same storm of confusion. Just then, another, older agent appeared beside us. He spoke in clipped, military French. "Where are you coming from? Did you miss your connection because of the incident—the acte de vandalisme ?" We both began to explain, recounting the wrong station, the Metro dash, the missed train—but before we could start, our first agent leaned close, her eyes wide wit...