Don’t stop believin’

(Note: Liza and Kerri completed their journey of visiting all 30 Major League ballparks on June 28 in Minnesota.

Column first appeared in The Baldwin Times for Gulf Coast Media, June 12, 2026.)

With Liza and Kerri ahead of the June 3 game in Atlanta. (Wayne Smith photos.)

There was something about meeting Liza Subik in person that reminded me of my Bear.

I just couldn't put my finger on it.

After a nine-inning baseball game last week at Atlanta's Truist Park, though, I finally figured it out.

It was her optimism.

I made the trip to Atlanta specifically to meet Liza and her best friend, Kerri Domingo, after interviewing them by phone last month. I was intrigued by Liza's journey to visit all 30 Major League Baseball ballparks despite being given six months to live earlier this year because of Stage 4 breast cancer.

By chance, I learned about her story while visiting Seattle in May to work on my book about my father. I had just settled into my seat at a Mariners game when the public-address announcer introduced Liza as the night's honorary first-pitch guest. As her story unfolded over the loudspeakers, I found myself paying more attention to the woman on the field than to the baseball game itself.

Most people would have focused on the diagnosis.

Liza focused on the ballparks.

Her catcher that night was Kerri, her lifelong best friend, who has joined her on every stop of the journey. Together they have spent the past couple of years crossing one stadium after another off the list. I initially wrote about their journey last month. Readers can also follow their journey on Instagram at @ballinonabudgettour.

When I learned they would be at Truist Park on June 3 for ballpark No. 24, I bought a ticket. I wanted to meet them. We made plans to do just that as I made my way back to Gulf Shores from North Alabama.

Before the game, we shared a meal near the field and talked about baseball, friendship, cancer, family and life. Then we settled in to watch the Braves defeat the Toronto Blue Jays.

It wasn't until after the game, while outside the ballpark waiting for transportation, that I finally understood why Liza reminded me so much of Dorinda.

The conversation turned toward the future — or perhaps more accurately, all the reasons Liza wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. With five ballparks remaining on their journey, they will visit No. 30 later this month in Minnesota. So June is a busy month.

July was out because it was her son's birthday month.

August wouldn't work because it was her husband's birthday.

September belonged to Kerri.

October was reserved for another Dodgers playoff run.

Then football season would arrive.

Liza Subik, left, and Kerri Domingo smile from their seats at Truist Park ahead of Atlanta’s June 3 game against Toronto.

As she ruled out one month after another, the conversation turned into a game of finding even more reasons she couldn't possibly leave anytime soon. Her calendar is full.

In other words, she had no time scheduled for dying.

The comment was lighthearted, but it stopped me in my tracks because I had heard that kind of determination before.

Throughout her 14-month battle with cancer, Dorinda remained relentlessly optimistic. That doesn't mean she ignored reality. She knew exactly what she was facing. But she refused to surrender to it. She kept making plans. She kept talking about the future. She kept believing there would be more memories to make.

There was our daughter's wedding.

There were plans to watch our youngest grandson during the day.

There was life.

One of the things I admired most about Dorinda – and there were many – was the way she encouraged other people who were fighting battles of their own. In one note to a friend with cancer, she quoted Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." In another, she referenced Bon Jovi's "Keep the Faith." Even while fighting for her own life, she spent time trying to lift someone else's spirits. I saw that every time I went with her for a chemotherapy treatment – she would encourage the other women who were surrounding her there for the same purpose.

That was Dorinda. That’s what you need to know most about her.

And that's part of what I saw in Liza.

The other part was her concern for the people she loves.

That’s what made our wait for transportation after the game even more meaningful than the game itself, at least to me. First, I watched Kerri – an inspiration herself with her dedication to her friend – slowly push Liza in her wheelchair up a steep hill toward the ride share area. At one point, a kind man stepped in to give Kerri some relief and push Liza the rest of the way up the hill.

Kerri pushes her friend through the concourse at Truist Park following the Braves’ win over the Blue Jays.

Trailing behind and walking slowly, I watched as Liza turned around to make sure I was OK, recognizing my own walking issues.

Even then, she was thinking about someone else.

Finally at the ride-share destination, our wait was crowded and lengthy. And it’s one I’ll never forget.Once there, our conversation bounced between the lighthearted and the serious. Fruity Pebbles, I learned, is mandatory for breakfast on their journey — no exceptions.

We also talked about her health struggles. I learned Liza has had close to 150 chemotherapy treatments since her initial diagnosis. There was radiation. Three surgeries. She was unable to walk without excruciating pain for almost a year before literally learning how to walk again.

As we waited and talked, there was more. She told me her greatest worry wasn't really for herself. It was for her husband, Tony, and her 12-year-old son, Johnny. She spoke about wanting her husband to find happiness again if the day ever comes when she is no longer here. Liza asked me what has helped me the most in grieving the loss of my wife of what would have been 40 years this December. I told her it was the feeling that Dorinda is still with me in many ways.

She also told me about letters she is writing for her son — one for his high school graduation, one for his wedding day and one for the birth of his first child. They are letters she hopes he won't need for many years, but letters she wants him to have nonetheless.

That brought tears to my eyes. And to hers.

Again, I thought about Dorinda.

When she was first diagnosed, one of her earliest concerns wasn't what might happen to her. Instead, she wanted to know whether the cancer was genetic. Could our daughter inherit it? Could our granddaughter inherit it?

Even then, she was thinking about others, not treatment plans.

That's what love does. And maybe that's what hope does, too.

As I drove home from Atlanta, I kept thinking about Liza and Kerri, about friendship and faith, and about a woman who has every reason to stop believing but refuses to do so.

And I thought about how Dorinda would have loved Liza, who at 37 is just four years older than my son and less than a decade older than my daughter.

Dorinda would have loved Liza’s sense of humor. She would have loved her spirit.

And she absolutely would have understood why July, August, September and October are simply too busy for dying.

Some people carry hope wherever they go.

My Bear did.

And so does Liza.

Braves mascot Blooper welcomes Kerri and Liza to Truist Park.