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

When Fear Becomes the Default

In this special episode, When Fear Becomes the Default. Early Sunday morning, I was cycling past a small veterans’ pocket park in San Marcos. The air was still, the streets nearly empty. On one corner stood a young woman, alone, holding a hand-painted sign that read: “Be ANGRY. ICE agents are murdering people.” I pedaled past, but the words stayed with me. I knew the context—the footage and headlines from Minneapolis the day before, already ricocheting through the country and hardening opinions. Even in the quiet of the ride, the noise followed. Two miles later, I stopped at a red light. A black car with dark windows pulled up inches from my bike. My heart jumped. My first instinct wasn’t neighbor —it was threat . I found myself bracing, scanning, and wondering if the person inside was angry, armed, or looking for trouble. Then the door opened. A well-dressed young woman stepped out, walked to the trunk, and pulled out a sign that read “Open House.” She turned, smiled brightly, and sa...

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is  for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

Sweden Called . . . They Said No.

Have you ever wondered about  the Nobel Prize? Let's look at Where Genius Meets “Wait—Where’s My Medal?” Every October, the Nobel Prizes are announced, and humanity pauses to celebrate the "greatest benefit to mankind." And every year, like clockwork, a specific type of person appears online to complain—at length—that they were robbed. (Well, maybe this year more than most.) The Origin: A Legacy of Guilt The prize exists because Alfred Nobel, a Swedish inventor, had a crisis of conscience. Nobel held 355 patents, but he was most famous for inventing dynamite. When a French newspaper mistakenly published his obituary, calling him the " Merchant of Death, " he decided to buy a better legacy. In his 1895 will, he left the bulk of his massive fortune to establish five prizes (Physics, Chemistry, Medicine, Literature, and Peace). Because he was Swedish, he entrusted the selection to Swedish institutions, such as the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences. The only outlier...