Deanna Michele (Johnson) Guay

June 2, 1972 – May 21, 2025

Those of us who were fortunate enough to know and love Deanna, know how delicious Deanna was. Salty and sweet, she contained multitudes: fire and spunk, hilarity and sharp wit, warmth and fierce loyalty, tenderness and stubborn resolve. She was the spark lighting up a room, the presence you remembered not just for her story, but for her vivaciousness and that precious laugh echoing joyfully in your ears.

She was the daughter who shaped her parents, the remarkable Doug and Jane Johnson, into the unwavering team they became — standing by her side through every hospital stay, every dialysis session, every chemo round. Mom, ever steadfast through the years; Dad, whose infectious humor reminded us that how you face life matters even more than what you’re facing. 

His laughter had the power to reach her even when she was unconscious, pulling her back in 2013 when we nearly lost her through two rounds of sepsis. We were gifted twelve more years with her because of that — and we never stopped learning that lesson: fight for her as hard as she fought to stay with us, and laugh just as hard. Enjoy and savor, just as much.

As best as it has been possible to piece together, Deanna’s journey with chronic illness began at nine, when a case of strep throat set off an inflammatory kidney response. From there, efforts to treat the inflammation triggered steroid-induced diabetes by thirteen. She progressed to kidney failure by twenty. At twenty-one, she received her first kidney transplant from Mom; at twenty-five, her second from Dad.

Fifteen relatively strong years followed that she made the most out of until another round of kidney failure hit, along with sepsis. Her doctors couldn’t identify the infection source, but Deanna, in tune with her body, knew: it was the first transplanted kidney. The doctors hesitated, but Deanna declared: “If you don’t take it out, I will.” In partnership with her medical team, she stepped fully into her role as lead advocate — knowing she was the one who would live with the consequences of every choice, action, or inaction. They respected her and listened to her, operated, and she rebounded so strongly she was able to receive her third transplant, the miracle kidney. And it truly was. She had a miraculous eight years without an overnight hospital stay — it was a magnificent run.

It’s tricky to talk about all this because Deanna never wanted to be defined by her illness. She carried vulnerability and strength with grace — determined to keep her identity larger than any diagnosis or limitation. Most people had no idea what she navigated every day. That was a key quality of her life: while her health shaped so much, she would not be defined by it.

Her journey grew all of us up. When someone you love lives so close to life’s edge, a preciousness arises from the sheer energy it takes for them not to slip off that edge. With Deanna, we all developed a deeper appreciation for the shimmering gift of being alive and a clearer sense of what truly matters.

As we’ve had the gift to witness over the last two and a half decades, her husband Matty — her “aca-awesome” partner, her Sweet Cheeks and Cutie Patootie — filled every gap, sleeping on hospital recliners and even floors, holding her hand through the hardest days, making sure they found joy: in vacations, family time, and every moment they could seize. Around her: her unwavering parents, me as her most fabulous sister 😇, her wonderful in-laws, her Nintendo family, her beloved niece who knew her as “Evil Aunt Dee,” her truly precious friends, sweet cousins, aunts, uncles, and her lifelong friend Tony, who’d known her since he was born and she was a week old. Tony and his wonderful wife Apryl’s unforgettable Game Nights gave us joy so big we laughed until our sides hurt — and yes, frequently until we peed our pants.

At the heart of our family early on was Jake, our amazing golden retriever, who was with us through the first thirteen years of Deanna’s health journey. Jake, so sweet and loving: Deanna was his human. He was her protector, always at her side, letting her dress him up for Halloween and patiently wore the deely-bobber headbands she put on his head. He was the embodiment of loyalty and love, just like her.

Deanna didn’t live a limited life; she lived a big one. She tore across the country in the Pikachu car and Nintendo’s promotional Winnebago. Through her travels, she visited 49 of 50 states — only missing Maine, of all places. She literally defied gravity, flying with Buzz Aldrin in a zero-gravity plane while dressed in the Mario suit. She soaked in the magic of Disney, a love sparked young that carried her to a Disney Cruise honeymoon and countless visits to Disneyland, including a two-week trip just last spring that truly was medicine for her, body and soul.

She was a woman of joyful contradictions — loving Hallmark tearjerkers as much as horror, gore, and zombie flicks, chilling out to heavy metal music with a longtime obsession with Def Leppard, yet adoring Josh Groban concerts with her girlfriends, laughing at South Park and enjoying the Minions, with her ringtone set to the Muppets’ “Mahna Mahna” song. Playful and mischievous, sneaking googly eyes onto unsuspecting surfaces, she was also incredibly organized and taught all of us to be the same. She was the most diligent recycler you’d ever meet, so it’s no surprise she chose to have her body composted at Recompose

She was the friend who paid attention, who listened, who earnestly empathized — even if sometimes she needed to roll her eyes. She sent flowers just when you needed them, found the gift you didn’t know you needed — something perfect, something you’d use for years, or something irreverent that made you laugh every time you used it. She hand-made beautiful cards for every holiday and birthday, and last Christmas persisted in mailing out over fifty handmade cards despite her hands being so impacted by neuropathy from chemotherapy.

These past two years, she fought a rare small intestine cancer, likely born from her thirty years of immunosuppressants for her transplants. She continued to fight with everything she had because, as she told me, “this is the one life I get to have where you’re my sister, Matty is my husband, and our parents are our parents.” We shared so many moments — sleepover talks, old movies, deep love reaffirmed.

As the cancer spread and options narrowed, she stayed clear on her priorities, facing everything with her signature fire. “I am not a patient patient,” she often said, advocating fiercely for herself alongside remarkable and dedicated medical professionals.

In our last conversation on Sunday morning before she passed, she was still more concerned about us than herself — how we would be after she was gone. That was who she was: thinking of all of us, even as she faced the hardest moments of her life.

Dad shared a story just a few weeks ago in the hospital: when I was six or seven, a neighbor kid, Wesley, punched me in the stomach in our playroom. Sweet little Dee, ten or eleven, twisted his arms, brought him to the ground, holding him there while Dad watched, laughing and cheering her on a bit before stepping in. That was Dee — fierce, loyal, always ready to stand up for the people she loved. 

And, wow, did she love me. And whoof, how I loved her. There aren’t words for how my heart aches with the loss of Dee in this world. And yet, since her last breath, I can’t help but feel her with me. I will hold her precious for the remaining days of my life.

As we stand here, shattered and heartbroken but profoundly grateful for the years we had with her, I invite you to remember her legacy: her fierce love, her humor, her tenacity, and how she made each of us feel. Let’s carry her spirit forward in how deeply we love, how fully we laugh, how we show up for one another, and how we cherish what truly matters.

What have you learned about life through knowing Deanna? Cherish those lessons, and carry them forward — for her.

Deanna (Johnson) Guay passed away peacefully at EvergreenHealth Hospice at 12:51 p.m. on May 21, 2025, her hand in mine, surrounded by our beloved family. She told me just days before, “See you later.” And so we will.

See you later, most amazing sister in the world. See you later.

Love you, love you, love you. Always.

—Your forever sister, Heather.

A Celebration of Life for Deanna will be held July 12, 2025, 6–9 p.m. at Brightwater Center. RSVP and details to follow.