HENRY, DR. MICHAEL MARVIN. June 16, 1946 - September 15, 2023.
After a valiant battle with cancer, Dr. Michael Henry died Friday evening, Sept. 15, 2023, in his home, just as the sun began to set and the Jewish New Year was about to begin. He was surrounded by his wife and three daughters and the love and support of an enormous extended family and a vast network of cherished friends and colleagues. He was 77 years old.
A respected ophthalmologist, "Dr. Henry," as he was known to most, was a good doctor. The best. Old school, he went out of his way for each patient, often bending over backwards to give them back their sight; the ability to see - and experience - the world around them.
Kind and loving, he was a devoted husband and father and will be deeply missed by Ruthie, his wife of 50 years; his three daughters and their spouses, Michele, Jessica (Michael Brandao) and Lauren (Michael Pacheco). His three grandchildren, Hudson, Scarlett and Charlotte ("Charlie"), will always remember their Zayda Michael, whose face lit with joy whenever they were near. He is also survived by his two doting siblings and their spouses: Danny and JoAnn and Robin and Ed and their children and grandchildren, Jacob, Max and Arielle, Ely, Samuelle, Milton and Carolyn (Hannah and Layla), Mordy and Tauba (Mason) and Zale and Mel.
Nicknamed "Treasure" by his parents while he was still in the womb, Michael was born in Toronto, at Mount Sinai Hospital on June 16, 1946. The progeny of jewellery entrepreneurs, he was raised in the conservative Jewish tradition, going to cheder after school each day and bar mitzvahed at 13. When tragedy struck in 1961 and his 47-year-old father died abruptly - and in his arms - Michael stepped into his father's shoes, becoming the man of the house. For a skinny, grieving 15-year-old boy, filling those shoes, that role might have seemed impossible. Quickly, though, he grew into them. Always a good student, he followed his late father's dream and went to medical school, eventually falling in love with the eye and becoming an ophthalmic surgeon.
With steady hands and formidable skill, he specialized in removing cataracts, the dirtied lenses that rob the elderly, mainly, of their sight. Throughout his nearly 50-year career, he gave back to thousands, at least, the ability to once again observe and enjoy the world. From across the city and province, patients came to see him, regularly waiting hours, in queues that spilled out of his modest office and into the hallways and waiting rooms of the small, yellow medical building that once stood near the corner of Lawrence and Avenue Road. He was "worth the wait," everyone knew, because Michael took the time to consider the patient and not just their problem. He listened. He heard. And he went to great lengths for his patients, but also his children, relatives, friends and even friends of friends, to help whenever, wherever and however he could. When he didn't have an immediate answer, he poured himself into the research until he found one.
Over the last few weeks, his final weeks, as the cancer consumed him, he grew agitated that that this was the first problem he just couldn't seem to solve. "All you can do is try," he wrote on his computer days before his death. "All you can do is try; who knows what the future will bring." His drive and curiosity endowed Michael with a fierce love for life and those he cared about. Michael was a true "mensch," a compliment reflected even by the time of day his heart stopped beating.
At 6:40 p.m. on Friday, when he took his last breath, the sun was low in the sky, but it still wasn't dark enough for the holiday to begin. According to Jewish theory, only the most righteous among us die in the moments before Rosh Hashanah. Since this year, the holiday fell on the Sabbath as well, Michael was endowed with a double blessing, according to the Talmud he entered the afterlife on a day when he can fully rest.