Christi Dawn Fowler: A Legacy of Love, Strength and Selfless Giving 

(Christi Fowler (back right), Will Fowler (back left), and 3 of their 4 daughters (front))

Guest blog post by Will Fowler, melanoma caregiver, advocate and husband of Christi Dawn Fowler:

“My wife, Christi Dawn Fowler, had a laugh that could stop a room and a heart big enough to hold the whole world. We were married for 24 years—full of chaos, love, bad dancing in the kitchen, and raising five kids together: Shelby, Brian, Allison, Leslie, and Emily. Since her passing, we’ve also welcomed our first grandchild, Robert Tate. And let me tell you, if Christi were here, that boy wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace—he would’ve been smothered in hugs, kisses, and snacks he didn’t ask for. She would’ve adored him. 

(Photo on the left: Will and Christi dressed as Shriner Clowns, they dressed up as “Cotton and Candy”) (Photo on the right: Christi and her beloved son, Brian)

Christi was the kind of woman who made everyone feel like family. She could fix anything with a “Look here, buddy…” and had the uncanny ability to find the one piece of antique junk at a flea market that would actually become a family treasure. She loved deeply, gave freely, and lived with a rare mix of elegance and sass. 

Her fight with melanoma lasted seven years. And by fight, I mean warrior-level battle. There was no cure for what she had, but that didn’t stop us from trying to find one. I took her everywhere—MD Anderson, Vanderbilt, Duke, Mayo Clinic, Cancer Treatment Centers of America, UAB in Birmingham, and finally Clearview Cancer Institute in Huntsville, Alabama. She did trial after trial. Some treatments helped, some didn’t. But none could beat the fact that she had the BRAF gene with the V600E mutation—a mutation that made the cancer smarter, sneakier, and far more aggressive than most. 

(Christi took her minion plush with her to receive treatments, this picture was taken during her first visit to MD Anderson)

It all started with a mole—right between her shoulder blades. I bugged her enough to get it checked, and when they finally removed it, it was the size of a child’s fist. What we didn’t know back then is what cost us later. The doctor didn’t do any lymph node mapping or follow-up testing. He just hacked and sent her on her way. Later, we learned that skipping those steps made it impossible to know which “highway” the melanoma had taken. And once it started spreading, it moved fast. 

(First melanoma site on her upper back)

First, it hit her left axillary—39 lymph nodes gone. Then it jumped to the right side of her neck—six more. It scattered across her right axillary, back to the left, into her skull, spine, sternum, right lung… and eventually, into her brain. That’s when we knew our time was running out. She lost her sight. She struggled to speak. Her mind, which had always been sharp, playful, and just a little dangerous when she was mad, started to fade. 

(Christi with her best friend, April, who was by her side throughout her entire treatment. This picture was taken on their last annual girls’ trip to Florida which Christi was determined to make)

Christi passed away on April 25, 2018—just three days after her 43rd birthday. And yes, in case you’re doing the math, she was born on Earth Day…Of course she was. She always wanted to give back to this world, and she lived her life with the kind of selflessness most people only talk about. 

We didn’t mourn her the way people expected. That wasn’t her style. She made it clear—no dramatic send-offs, just family and a little peace. Her wish was to be cremated and planted in a living urn. We picked one of her favorite trees—a weeping willow. At the time, it was a skinny little three-footer. Now, seven years later, it’s over 40 feet tall. That tree’s got her spirit. It’s wild, strong, and just a little moody when it storms. We don’t have a headstone. We have something living. Something you can touch, lean on, and feel her presence in. 

Christi wasn’t just a wife and mom. Christi was pure kindness. She loved hard. She believed deeply in family, in friendship, in service to others. She was a fighter, a giver, a doer. She started a Relay for Life team (Melanoma Momma) before she even got sick—and we’ve kept that team going every year in her honor. I’m a Shriner, and she loved being part of that world with me. After she passed, people donated nearly $10,000 to help fund a new upright MRI machine for kids. She would’ve been so proud—and probably mad she wasn’t around to organize the ribbon-cutting ceremony. 

Her legacy is this: she gave everything she could to others. Her time. Her love. Her laugh. Her strength. Including the Melanoma Research Foundation (MRF) in my estate plan was a no-brainer. It’s how I keep her legacy of giving alive. It’s my way of saying, “Christi’s still fighting—just from a different angle now.” 

She may be gone from this world but make no mistake—she continues on. In our kids. In our grandson. In that tree that grew like a weed just to remind us that she still has roots here. And now, through the MRF, she’ll continue to make a difference for generations to come. 

Because Christi wasn’t just my wife. She was a force of nature. And she’s not done yet.”