‘That water took him:’ Heavy hearts toast Port Dover fisherman Michael Smith, lost to Lake Erie
On a stormy evening in Port Dover, a woman in a black dress sat at the back of the Royal Canadian Legion hall, framed by faded flags and a wall lined with plaques listing the names of war dead.
Before visitors arrived, Sherry Smith spoke quietly, of loss, and how we lead many lives, and that she hopes the one to come delivers less pain.
We have to keep on living, and some days are OK, you think: I can do this.' And there are days when you miss him so terribly you can't breathe."
She held a celebration of life event Thursday for her husband, fisherman Michael Smith.
It was on a blue-sky day in March 2020 that Smith, a beloved figure in town, died after falling off his smelt tug into frigid Lake Erie, southwest of Long Point.
Four days later, his body was recovered in darkness at the bottom of the lake by a police diver.
Michael, who was 50, was buried 19 months ago. But his family was denied a proper funeral or memorial due to the pandemic.
In the months after he died, well-wishers came by Sherry's place but could only wave from the road.
She thinks the distance suited her, in a way, but she needed this too.
Michael went to work one day and disappeared. So with people coming tonight, it is kind of the ceremony, it makes it real."
Sherry is 44, soft-spoken and introspective, the opposite of her gregarious husband who was an oversized character in every way, inclined to hug anyone he met, and who revelled in smoking meat on their front porch bare chested while playing Celtic music at ample volume.
She got a new tattoo at the end of the summer, of a compass, on her forearm. She liked the design and figured Michael - who made fun of her poor sense of direction - would have laughed about it.
And she can look at it and ask herself in the broadest sense: Where are you going, Sherry? Focus."
Sherry's co-host for the event was Alesha Smith, Michael's sister.
Leonard Smith, Alesha and Michael's father, died in August from a heart attack. Lenny was 82, a free-spirited and reflective man fond of quoting poetry and Buddha.
And so, on Thursday, flowers and framed photos of the father and the son graced a table inside the front door of the legion.
They both used to spend lots of time there, playing darts, having beers, dancing at community and family events.
It felt surreal, having it as a double event," said Alesha. But I know both Michael and dad would have been honoured to have it together. It was like it was meant to be."
Alesha is struggling with her grief, losing her brother and father.
I'm not doing very well, to be honest. It's a lot to process."
Lenny's ashes will be buried Saturday next to Michael's grave.
One of Michael's cousins spoke with Sherry in the legion, and told her that whenever Michael greeted someone, he would ask: Are you happy?" and mean it.
He was loved immensely by everyone," a woman added.
Sherry made sure the menu included little old lady sandwiches," as Michael called them, the ones he used to inhale at socials.
Old friends toasted him with shots of whisky at the bar.
As for the music, Michael always said he wanted Lynyrd Skynyrd's Simple Man" played at his funeral. Sherry even had the lyrics printed inside memorial cards:
Forget your lust for the rich man's gold/All that you need is in your soul ... be a simple kind of man/Oh, be something you love and understand."
She decided against including a song from his favourite metal band, Iron Maiden. She did buy him tickets for a concert once, though.
That was a special kind of torture for me, but I loved him and went," she said. My goodness Michael was uncorked that night; his shirt came off, it was embarrassing on many levels."
A slide show featured 275 photos on a loop, capturing moments in the lives of Michael and his father.
A few showed Michael at work on the Donna F. tug.
Sherry didn't want to include many photos of the lake.
Since the day he vanished, she couldn't go near the water, or even look at it from a distance.
The only time she went to the water's edge was last year, for the dedication of a bench to Michael.
It's hard not to think: that water took him," she said. I'm not as angry as I was, it was an accident. But I visit the cemetery, that's where he is, and that's where I go."
It remains a mystery how he fell in the water that was near freezing. Neither the captain nor the other crewmate on board saw him go in.
After the celebration event ended, Sherry, who is an outreach worker in geriatric mental health, went home with her kids to whom Michael was a passionate father: Evan, 14, and Grace, 17.
Alesha hosted an after-party. A few dozen old friends came over, playing Michael's music and telling stories long into the night.
It had rained off and on Thursday, and thunder boomed - Sherry thought the noise appropriate for his send-off - and outside the legion, just after sunset, the sky was grey and the wind picked up.
Nearby at the marina is Michael Smith's bench, close to the docks where the fish tugs are moored.
Over the lake, dark storm clouds bloomed.
Michael used to cajole Sherry to come down with him on a windy day, to make sure the boat was tied safely, or to retrieve some of his gear.
She has motion sickness, so he would lift her up in the air and gently place her on deck. And in the spring, he would point out where swallows were nesting inside the tug, because she loves birds.
Further beyond in the western sky, over Long Point, it appeared like a gift: threads of pink and orange broken by clouds, a final unexpected encore of the sun.
If you watched for a few minutes, and felt raindrops dot your skin, you saw the clouds close-in, and the colour fade to white, until the window closed and the light was gone.
Jon Wells is a Hamilton-based reporter and feature writer for The Spectator. Reach him via email: jwells@thespec.com