Who is Zach? Described through the eyes of his Mother

Zach’s legacy lives in the countless small moments where he made someone feel seen, supported, or included. It lives in the teammates he encouraged, the friends he lifted up, the people he defended, and the laughter he sparked. It lives in the example he set—of kindness, courage, generosity, and heart. I think the best way to describe Zachary is to tell you some stories.

On the very day of the accident, every hockey referee in Innisfail gathered together and created the sticker you see here on the helmet and wore it that same night — their way of saying, “He mattered. We remember him” Zach’s brother, Declan, keeps it on his own helmet as a quiet, steady reminder of the brother he loves.

Another hockey family designed the “In Loving Memory” sticker and printed hundreds so others could carry Zach with them too. A lacrosse family hung a jersey in their window with sticks beside it, and when they posted that photo on Facebook, my phone lit up with message after message — dozens of people doing the same thing. That family has recreated that display every single year since.

Every January 13th, another family posts: “Do something kind in Zach’s honor today.” And people do.

Several Innisfail Minor Lacrosse teams carry out the #13 jersey and hang it behind the bench at every game. Many kids point to it after they score — their way of keeping him close.

At the end of every hockey season, I present the Zach Smith Official of the Year Award. And at the end of every lacrosse season, I present the Zach Smith #13 Memorial Award. These moments are bittersweet, but they remind me that Zach’s life continues to touch others.

When he was nine, we were driving to a hockey game a few weeks before his birthday. Out of nowhere he said, “Mom, I have an idea. My birthday is really close to Christmas, and I always have a really good Christmas. I don’t need birthday gifts and then Christmas gifts. Would it be ok if I ask everyone who comes to my birthday party to bring a gift for a kid who needs it more than I do?”

Thankfully the roads were clear, because my eyes instantly filled with tears.

Then, when Zach was twelve, he was supposed to go on a class trip to New York. He had shoveled sidewalks, babysat, and done extra chores to earn spending money. It broke my heart to tell him the trip was cancelled due to terrorist activity in France. It took him about ten minutes to process it. Then he quietly walked into his room, grabbed the envelope with all his hard‑earned cash, handed it to me, and said, “I can’t use it now. You should give it to the Christmas Bureau.”

I cried harder then than he did when he learned the trip was cancelled.

The next day, as I told some of my regular customers, a man who overheard handed me fifty dollars to add to the donation — but asked for proof that it actually went to the Christmas Bureau. When he came in next, you can bet I had a copy of the newspaper article ready for him.

That was Zach — always looking outward, always thinking of someone else.

Zach wore this Christmas suit to every hockey game in the month of December. He loved that everyone started laughing or smiling at him when he walked into the arena. He was always looking for an ugly sweater, or funny glasses, or the like to embellish and improve the suit. After the first year, his other teammates started wearing their own Christmas suits. Declan has kept the tradition going. 

On our way to a tournament, we stopped to shop, and Zachary saw this unicorn onesie. I told him I’d buy it for him, but he had to change into it in the truck and walk into the hotel wearing it. He was never one to turn down a dare.

Zach was an honor roll French Immersion student up to grade 10, when he transferred to English. He spent 3 months in France as an exchange student in grade 9.

He was competitive and liked to win. Because of this, he would spend time with the weaker players on his team teaching them and encouraging them, bringing their skill level up. He was naturally athletic—one of those rare people who could pick up any sport and somehow make it look effortless—but he gravitated toward the fast-paced, high‑energy games like hockey and lacrosse. He loved the speed, the strategy, the adrenaline.

He fought with his younger brother every minute but dared anyone else to pick on Declan. Zach never hesitated to defend someone he thought needed defending. And he did it with such confidence, that it was rare the bully didn’t back down.

Zach valued doing a good job and earning the money, he loved his job as a valve tech, and loved that he had just gotten a raise. He never got to seed the raise, though. But as much as he loved earning money, he was all about the community. He would turn down overtime shifts to ref minor hockey. He enjoyed mentoring the younger kids. He was a junior coach for the lacrosse season before he passed and was looking forward to coaching again. While his hockey player career was over, he was all lined up to play another junior lacrosse season. In fact, first practice was the weekend after he passed (he passed on a Thursday).

In summary, I believe that Zach’s mission in life was to make people smile, no matter what it took. From wearing funny clothes to doing magic card tricks to giving them the shirt off his back. He worked hard and played just as hard. He knew he had values, work ethic, and skills to teach to others and genuinely wanted to. Hopefully the above stories give you a glimpse into why, even over 4 years after his death, there is a #13 lacrosse jersey hanging on the wall in the concession at the arena, and why his friends still include me in their lives (like asking me to officiate their wedding, or go to the movies with them).