Columnist Wayne Smith

One. Let's start here.

One year ago this month, my wife and I had climbed a mountain. She had completed chemotherapy at UAB Women & Infants Center. She rang the bell. We celebrated with a family beach trip to Gulf Shores.

But there were more mountains ahead. Too many. Dorinda bravely climbed each one of them with me by her side. I lost my Bear to cancer in April. We would have celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary in December. (Bear was my nickname for her — Dorinda was a sleepy bear. Especially at the beach.)

As recently as March, we had put our plans in motion to move to our condo in Gulf Shores. But her cancer came back with a vengeance. So now, I've followed through on our plan. It's just I'm alone. On the night of April 25, I said goodbye to my best friend, my partner in everything and someone I had talked with every day since we first met in October 1983.

Back to that number — one. So much has changed in my life since my Bear rang that bell Aug. 6, 2024. A scan later that month showed an orange-sized tumor had developed. One more mountain to climb. More pain. She endured 25 daily radiation trips. And the tumor disappeared. Her doctor called it miraculous, saying that he rarely saw such dramatic results in his patients. Dorinda was able to dance with me at our daughter's October wedding in the Smoky Mountains. It was a great day.

Precious time with our children and three grandchildren would follow over Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays. But Dorinda noticed a lump in her neck on the way home from spending Christmas with our family in North Alabama.

The cancer had spread to her lymph nodes. She started 2025 with more daily radiation treatments. And they were again successful. We rolled into March believing we had climbed one more mountain. We spent the first weekend of the month at our condo, measuring and deciding what pieces of furniture we would move with us to our happy place. We enjoyed a chilly day at the beach, visited a couple of our favorite restaurants.

We returned to our home in Prattville and started planning. We listed our house there for sale. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

But then came April and more pain for her. Ultimately, we learned the cancer had spread again, this time to her lungs. We explored other options, but her platelets were too weak for additional treatments.

Wayne and Dorinda Smith at the beach in August 2024.

Photo provided courtesy of Wayne Smith

I'm biased, of course, but Dorinda was the kindest soul. She genuinely cared about others. One example: When taking chemotherapy at UAB, she would meet others facing the same obstacle. She would wish them the best and let them know she would be thinking about them.

I'm grateful to Kayla Green, executive editor of Gulf Coast Media, for giving me the opportunity to write a weekly column on navigating the area as a new resident, alone, without her. Along the way, I'll tell you more about my Bear as writing about her is cathartic for me. I'll write about our story, music that became the soundtrack of our lives, etc. (You can read more about her on my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/wayne.smith.106.) I'll also write about places and people I meet along the way as I take this new journey. So, if you see me out, please say hello.

Oh, and I'll still spend many of my evenings at the beach. I'll watch the sun go down, find the moon as it rises above the Gulf. But there won't be two beach chairs.

Only one.

Wayne Smith has worked as a writer and editor at newspapers across Alabama, Florida and South Carolina. Contact him at wwsmith6410@gmail.com.

Dorinda Smith rings the bell Aug. 6, 2024, at UAB Women & Infants Center after completing chemotherapy.

Photo courtesy of Wayne Smith