Micki Ann Smeal Detillier
June 20, 1961 – October 27, 2026
One hell of a woman. One unforgettable life. And a spirit that could never be tamed.
On October 27, 2026, the world lost one hell of a woman. Micki Ann Smeal Detillier, 65, of Hurricane, West Virginia, passed away, leaving behind a lifetime of love, laughter, memories, and probably a few people who are still recovering from something she said to them.
Born June 20, 1961, in Charleston, West Virginia, Micki spent part of her life in Paradis, Louisiana, before making her home in Hurricane, West Virginia. Known affectionately as “Mick Chick,” “Aunt Mick,” and “MawMaw,” she was a woman who lived life on her own terms, and Lord help anybody who tried to tell her otherwise.
To know Micki was to know a force of nature. She was fierce, independent, resilient, stubborn as hell, and unapologetically herself. She had the mouth of a sailor, the humor of Madea, the determination of a woman who had already survived more than her fair share, and a heart that loved harder than most people could ever imagine.
She wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. If she had something to say, you were going to hear it, whether you liked it or not. She didn’t need permission to speak her mind, and she certainly didn’t care if her opinion ruffled a few feathers. One of her favorite expressions was “Get the f***…” and if you knew Micki, you can probably hear her saying it right now, complete with the attitude and facial expression that made it unmistakably hers.
Micki loved the simple pleasures in life. She was a die-hard New Orleans Saints fan, loved watching the Food Network, enjoyed classic rock and country music, and never turned down a cold beer. She loved to cook, and her crab cakes and chili were two of her specialties. Feeding people was one of the many ways she showed her love. You might get a plate of food and a smartass comment in the same breath, but you were going to leave knowing you were cared for.
For 41 years, Micki shared her life with her husband, Dwayne Detillier. Together, they experienced the ups and downs, the struggles, the changes, and the countless moments that make up a lifetime spent beside another person.
Life was never particularly gentle with Micki, but then again, Micki was never particularly gentle with life.
She survived a brain aneurysm in 2004, Hurricane Katrina, and medical emergencies that would have brought most people to their knees, including a blood sugar level of 851. Yet somehow, after surviving the unimaginable, she would wake up and start running that smart mouth like absolutely nothing had happened.
That was Micki. Life could knock her flat on her ass, but she would find a way to get back up, probably cussing the entire time.
She rebuilt her life from the ground up more times than most people will ever know. She faced hardships that could have broken her, but instead they shaped her into the strong, outspoken, fiercely independent woman everyone knew. She could be rough around the edges, but those edges were earned. Every scar, every struggle, and every battle told the story of a woman who refused to give up.
And while she may have had a tough exterior, the love she carried for her family was immeasurable.
As a mother, Micki was the kind of woman who would show up no matter what. If her children needed her and she had to walk to get to them, she would have done it without hesitation. Her love wasn’t always wrapped in soft words or gentle advice. Sometimes it came in the form of tough love, hard truths, and a reminder to quit feeling sorry for yourself and keep going. But beneath it all was a mother who would never leave her children standing alone.
She taught them to be strong, to work hard, to stand their ground, and never to let somebody else’s doubts determine what they were capable of becoming. Most importantly, she taught them what unconditional love looked like. Not perfect love, not always easy love, but the kind that shows up, stays, and fights for the people who matter.
And then there were her grandbabies.
Being MawMaw was one of Micki’s greatest joys. Her granddaughters, Haylee, Aria, and Callie-May, were her pride and joy. She thought the world of those girls and was endlessly proud of how beautiful, brilliant, and strong they were becoming. She loved teaching them to cook and bake, passing along little pieces of herself through recipes, laughter, and memories that will remain with them forever.
For all her stubbornness, sarcasm, and don’t-give-a-damn attitude, Micki’s happiest moments were the ones spent watching her family grow.
When her family was together, smiling, laughing, and happy, Micki wore the brightest smile of all.
That was the side of her that meant the most. The woman who could cuss like a sailor and argue with the best of them could also look at the people she loved and find every bit of happiness she ever needed. She didn’t need a perfect life or a world full of fancy things. Seeing her family happy was enough.
Micki is survived by her husband of 41 years, Dwayne Detillier; her daughter, Rebecca Chapman, and Rebecca’s fiancé, Caleb Davis; her son, Dwayne Detillier Jr.; her beloved granddaughters, Haylee Chapman, Aria Chapman, and Callie-May Chapman; her sister, Tammy Smeal; and her brothers, Ronnie Smeal, Jerry Smeal, and Larry Smeal.
She was preceded in death by her grandmother, Virginia Pate; her father, Ronald Smeal; her mother, Janie Smeal; and her aunts, Louise Pate and Shelva Pate.
There will never be another Micki.
She could drive you absolutely crazy, make you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, tell you exactly what she thought of you, and still be the first person standing beside you when the rest of the world walked away. She wasn’t perfect, and she never claimed to be. She was real. She was raw. She was stubborn, opinionated, hilarious, and full of fire. And when she loved you, she loved you with every piece of her heart.
Even as her final days approached, she held on to that same fighting spirit. Admitting something was wrong was never her strong suit, and she remained stubborn until the very end. After a lifetime of surviving the impossible, she fought her final battle with the same determination that had carried her through every other one.
In accordance with Micki’s wishes, she will be cremated, and her ashes will be scattered across a field of sunflowers. There will be no formal funeral service.
And somehow, that feels exactly right.
Because a woman like Micki was never meant to be confined. She belonged somewhere wild and beautiful, beneath an open sky, surrounded by flowers that turn their faces toward the sun. Somewhere the wind can blow freely, the sunshine can warm the earth, and nothing can tell her which way to grow.
Micki wouldn’t want everyone sitting around crying over her. In fact, she’d probably have a few choice words for anyone making too much of a fuss.
She’d want you to crack open a cold beer, pour one out for her, turn up some good music, share a funny story, and remember all the times she made you laugh. She’d want you to love your family, make memories, speak your mind, stand up for yourself, and never apologize for being who you are.
Because if Micki taught us anything, it’s that life is too damn short to live it according to somebody else’s rules.
And to our mom, our MawMaw, our Mick Chick, and our unforgettable Aunt Mick:
We love you more than words could ever express. We will miss your voice, your laugh, your smartass comments, your stubbornness, and the way you could make us feel loved even while giving us hell.
We will miss your cooking, your stories, your opinions that nobody asked for, and the way you always managed to survive whatever life threw at you.
But most of all, we will miss you.
Don’t worry, though. Your smart mouth, your stubborn streak, and that legendary don’t-give-a-shit attitude aren’t going anywhere. You made damn sure to pass those down, and we promise to carry them proudly.
You taught us to fight for ourselves, love without conditions, and never give up. And even though we have to learn how to live in a world without you in it, we will keep those lessons close.
You spent your whole life fighting, Mom. You don’t have to fight anymore.
So rest easy, Mick Chick. You’ve earned your peace.
And when we see a field of sunflowers stretching toward the sunshine, we’ll think of you. Not because you’re gone, but because even now, you’re reminding us to stand tall, weather the storms, and always turn toward the light.
We hope the beer is cold, the music is loud, the Saints are winning, and nobody’s telling you what to do.
Who Dat, Micki. Forever and always.
Now go give Heaven some hell, Mom. We love you.
