Terry Ann Fowler

Terry Ann Fowler never told us how she would have wanted her obituary to be written, just like she never told us how she wanted her funeral to look, what outfit she wanted to wear, what music she wanted playing, or who should have the pleasure of seeing her without her perfectly - shaped 70s hair wings.

So I’ll just tell you what she did say or do instead.

She was born in Kyushu, Japan on July 11, 1956. She was carted around to a few countries and states, tagged along by her 3 brothers and eventually 4 step siblings, forced to wear clogs in Germany, and fell in love with gondola men in Italy. She loved to sing and play the piano, and tell her best childhood friend when she’s never heard someone switch so many keys in a stanza before in her life.

She hid from her family, under the dock when her dad threw her in the lake to “teach” her how to swim. She taught them a lesson instead.

She learned to drive stick shift in a Volkswagen, on the day of her birthday, on the way to her drivers test.

She turned down Tony Michael Fowler 2-3 times in high school, before agreeing to go on a date with him after her mother said, “Okay, we no tell dad”. They were in love with each other ever since, even across state lines, risking banana daiquiris, platform shoes, Saturday Night Fever haircuts, spitting gum from the hotel balcony on their honeymoon, and even death.

She made a lovely life with her husband, raising two daughters (both tried to kill her while trying to come into this world, so I get why she brought it up every time we didn’t want to do something she asked). She attended every basketball, tennis, or volleyball game, dance recital, doctor’s appointment, piano class, graduation, and all the life events in between and after (as long as she did her hair first).

She threw Bunco parties and scrapbook get-togethers with friends. Told us to be home when the streetlights came on, and that ibuprofen could fix anything from a missing limb to a broken heart. She had her mom voice when talking to us, and then whoever she was on the phone with her friends, we don’t know who that was.

She loved books and movies and music, snapping her fingers and rocking side to side.

The Wizard of Oz.

Outlander.

Carpenters.

The Beegees.

Barbara Streisand.

She loved my dad the most.

She could spot a speck of dirt missed mopping, and could plant anything and everything in her gardens (if I’ll pull the weeds for her first). Growing up, our home would fit perfectly on the cover of a Southern Living magazine, and if you moved an item an inch, she would know if it was someone (Tamara? Tawny?) or somebody (which one of us was “someone” and who was “somebody” again? I forget). If she used your middle name, might as well cancel all plans for the next week, we’re grounded now.

She loved trips to Gatlinburg, apple butter from the Apple Barn, pottery and fudge and the mountains and the rivers, the cabins, the shops, and the shows.

Pizza. Every Friday night for years while we watch Hercules, Xena, and Friends back-to-back.

She loved dragonflies. The movie, the decor, the art, the symbolism.

She believed dad sent her messages through them.

She loved the color blue, and cross-stitching, and crafting, and shopping, and eating good food with her friends and family.

She loved going to the movies with her grandchildren, and calling her daughters 20 times in a row.

She cried when the vacuum broke on our last day in the house that was supposed to be her forever home with our dad (he passed away in 2003).

She laughed when I made my broken shoes talk to each other in the passenger seat while she was driving one time.

She taught me how not to drive.

She taught us how to make sushi, and mimicked Grandma sounding mad in Japanese-English.

She acted like she never liked the cats my sister rescued and dropped off at her house, but she loved on them in private and gave them all the toys and treats, and cried when we had to say goodbye. She called my cats her grand-fur-children, on the day I adopted them.

She loved being called Mimi by her grandkids.

She had a hard time saying outright that she loved us, but she showed it in all the ways she could. Buying us little things when she thinks of us, making craft projects to give to us, asking to grab lunch and go to Michael’s. Watching the grandkids, and politely talk trash about anyone that have hurt us.

She would tell us all the latest neighborhood gossips for hours, and keep us updated on extended family news.

Did I mention call us 20 times in a row? She called us a lot.

She loved us.

So Terry Ann Fowler, 68, of Calera, AL, may have passed away Monday, March 17, 2025, after a hard fight with a sick heart and lungs, but we choose to believe she is whole and happy again with the love of her life, Tony Fowler, and her parents Yuki and Loyd Cain, and her brother Michael Cain.

She leaves behind family that will carry her love and memories on: Tamara Fowler (daughter), Tawny Fowler (daughter), Braden and Kenna Fowler (grandchildren, Tamara), Jack Cain (brother, wife Ellen), Jeff Cain (brother, wife Pam), brother-in-law Tom (wife Rita), and multiple, multiple nieces and nephews. And many beautiful friends that she loved and adored.

Funeral arrangements will be held at Southern Heritage Funeral Home and Cemetery in Pelham, AL, on Saturday, March 22nd 2025. Visitation at 10am, service at 11am. Private family viewing is at 9:30am.

If anyone wishes to donate to an organization in her name, we believe the American Heart Association would have been what she wanted.