It was a quiet Friday evening when the phone rang, shattering the stillness of the room. Dr. Robert Lowerre, our school’s director, sat in his living room, the soft glow of the television casting shadows on the walls. He picked up the phone, expecting a routine call, but the voice on the other end was anything but routine. It was his doctor, and the news was devastating: he was just diagnosed with lymphoma. The weight of the moment pressed down on him immensely. As Dr. Lowerre processed the words, his mind raced—how would he tell his family? His students? The life he had built and the community he loved suddenly felt fragile, like a house of cards teetering on the edge of collapse.

“I remember that phone call,” Dr. Lowerre remarked, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “I remember where I was. I’ll never forget that.”

The early days were a blur. The cancer had started as a small lump in his armpit, something he thought might be a pulled muscle. But it grew rapidly, and soon he was caught in a whirlwind of tests, scans, and consultations. The fear of the unknown was paralyzing. How could he balance his role as a school director and a father with his new reality as a cancer patient? The guilt of potentially letting down his students, staff, and family gnawed at him.

Chemotherapy was brutal. The fatigue, the nausea, the moments of despair—it was a battle on every front. Yet, even as his body begged him to stop, Dr. Lowerre’s determination to keep working was persistent. He showed up at school, his spirit unbroken, even when his body was failing him. “I worked through it like an idiot,” he admitted with a wry smile. “I drove to school, parked in the back, and by the time I made it to my office, I was having vision issues. I just plopped down in my chair and thought, ‘What am I doing? Why am I here?’”

And then, a glimmer of hope: the first clear scan. “I remember the first time I got the scan that said I was clear,” Dr. Lowerre recalled. “I was like, ‘Oh my God, it worked!’” The relief, the joy, the sense of victory—it was a moment of triumph, a moment where he knew that he could beat this.

In the midst of his fight, Dr. Lowerre found solace in the small acts of kindness that surrounded him. He keeps a “feel-good file,” a collection of cards, letters, and small gifts from students, staff, and friends. Each item is a reminder of the love and support that his community has for him. “I’ve got this file that I call the feel-good file,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Sometimes when I’m frustrated, I take it out and just look at some of them. It reminds me why I do this.”

On top of that, there was a blanket from a secretary, a simple gesture that became a source of comfort during long nights in the hospital when he was still under treatment. There was the custodian who lit up when Dr. Lowerre gave him cookies, a small act of kindness that reminded him of the power of human connection. “I had an extra box of cookies, and I gave it to him. He just lit up. Who else was going to acknowledge him like that?”

Dr. Lowerre realized that his illness had brought the community closer together. Students and staff rallied around him, showing him that he wasn’t fighting alone. Their support became his strength, a lifeline in the darkest of times.

But his battle wasn’t over. The cancer returned, and with it came the crushing news that he would have to start treatment all over again. The emotional toll was immense, not just on Dr. Lowerre, but on his family too. There were moments when hope felt out of reach, when the weight of it all threatened to break him.

“I always tell my family, I’ve got the easy part,” Dr. Lowerre said, sorrowful. “I just have to show up. They have to watch all this and can’t do anything for me. My wife’s a nurse, and for her to have to watch me suffer and not be able to fix it—that’s the tough part.” In those dark moments, Dr. Lowerre turned to the Serenity Prayer, which states: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” He focused on what he could control and let go of what he couldn’t. He took life one day at a time, piece by piece. It was a mantra that helped carry him through.

As he prepared for a stem cell transplant, Dr. Lowerre packed his hospital bag with books and shows to binge, bracing himself for the fight ahead. His mindset shifted from “Why me?” to “Why not me?” He was grateful for his support system, for the advanced medical care, and for the time he had with his family. “I’ve got a fantastic work environment, I’ve got really good insurance, and I’ve got a great support system. Why not me? I can handle it,” he remarked.

He also found inspiration in the stories of others—the elderly woman he met in the waiting room with multiple cancers who was still fighting, the man with no legs who ran the Monument 10K. “I remember seeing this guy with no legs running past me,” Dr. Lowerre recalled. “I thought, ‘I’m gonna get beat by a guy with no legs?’ And he did. He beat me. But it reminded me that, yeah, I can definitely do this.”

Cancer reshaped Dr. Lowerre’s perspective on life. The things that used to bother him no longer mattered. His focus shifted to what truly mattered—time with family, meaningful connections, and the present. “Cancer’s taught me to be better at living in the moment,” he said. “Stuff that used to really drive me crazy, I don’t even fool with anymore. I’d rather hang out with my family, go see someplace, travel somewhere. That’s more important to me.”

Dr. Lowerre views sharing his story as a reassurance. He opened up about his journey battling cancer, speaking of his struggles, triumphs, and lessons learned. As he verbalized his experiences, he felt lighter and more at peace. “Talking to you right before I go into the hospital, this was good for me,” Dr. Lowerre said, his voice filled with gratitude. “Being able to talk and sort of verbalize some of these things—it puts me in a better spot than I was an hour ago.”

I hope that Dr. Lowerre’s story becomes a source of inspiration for others. I hope that students, staff, and perhaps even strangers reach out to share how his vulnerability and resilience gave them strength, deciding to share their own personal journeys.

Dr. Lowerre’s fight isn’t over, but he’s stronger than he ever thought possible. His journey is a testament to the strength of the human spirit, reinforcing his belief that resilience, hope, and the support of others can carry us through even the darkest of times. As he looks to the future, Dr. Lowerre knows that every day is a gift. His story is one of triumph, of finding light in the most terrifying of places, and of the transformative power of sharing our stories.

“Life is unpredictable,” Dr. Lowerre said, his voice filled with quiet resolve. “But you can do more than you think you can do. You can survive more than you think you can survive. And along the way, it makes you better.”

His story is truly a reminder that no matter how hard the fight, we are never truly alone.