Joyce Donaldson

December 16, 1948 – December 30, 2025

Joyce entered the world with strong opinions, a sharp wit, and a deep sense of justice—and she left it the same way. She had turned 77 on December 16 and died just two weeks later, on December 30, from a rare and aggressive cancer that wasted absolutely no time. True to form, Joyce didn’t either.

Born and raised in Maryland, Joyce came of age during a time when questioning authority was practically a civic duty—and she took that duty very seriously. In the 1970s, she packed up her books, her convictions, and her formidable vocabulary and moved to Phoenix, Arizona, where she would spend much of her life teaching, advocating, debating, and quietly (and sometimes loudly) shaping the minds of others.

Joyce wanted to be a teacher from the time she was a teenager. True to her determination, she made it happen on her own timeline—returning to college at age 30+ and beginning her teaching career at 50. She went on to teach for more than 20 years and was deeply beloved by her students—many of whom remembered her long after they forgot algebra, chemistry, or whatever class came before or after hers.

English was her true love: reading, writing, language, ideas, and the power of words to change the world. She was a gifted writer and poet, using words not just to teach, but to understand and express the world around her. Poetry and kids were her jam. She didn’t just teach children—she felt them. Joyce could see them clearly: their anger, their passions, their brilliance. Those fires burned just as brightly in her eyes and in her heart. She was able to connect with her students in a way that made them feel worth being heard. If you left her classroom more curious, more confident, or more willing to challenge the status quo, she considered that a job well done.

She believed books mattered, grammar mattered, and thinking for yourself mattered most of all. She was unapologetically political, proudly liberal, and deeply committed to justice, equity, and the idea that we all owe it to one another to do better. Joyce cared fiercely about making the world a better place—and she expected you to care, too.

She was feisty, funny, stubborn, vibrant, loving, and absolutely brilliant, often all in the same sentence. She could be quick to judge and just as quick to fly off the handle, but even faster to laugh, connect, and yell “f*ck!” with perfect timing. Conversations with Joyce were never boring and rarely short, but they were always worth having.

Joyce was a joyful person with an infectious laugh. She loved people, enjoyed their company, and had a remarkable ability to make friends easily. She was deeply interactive with everyone she loved and always did her best to make sure people knew how much she cared—for them and for life itself.

Joyce loved pictures, especially of family, and her home was full of them. She took great pride in the home she built in Phoenix, a place that reflected her personality, character and interests. The only thing that could have made it better was if it were on the beach. The beach was Joyce’s happy place, especially San Diego. She deeply loved sand in her toes and an ocean breeze in her hair (bonus points if paired with a glass of wine in her hand).

One of Joyce’s greatest treasures later in life was the immense joy she took in her grandchildren. She adored them and visits with them were incredibly special times for her.

Joyce is is survived by seven siblings: sisters Barbara Bailey; Judy Lucas (George); Dottie Ferrell; Janice Toepper (Allen); Linda Cooke (Steve); and Marie Koren; and brother Danny Fazenbaker (Ada). She is also survived by her four children: daughter Denise Barkhurst; and sons Richard Wechsler (Dawn), Lance Wechsler, and Trevor Donaldson; and eight grandchildren: Ariel Barkhurst (Hunter), Lacey Barkhurst (Dylan), Chelsea Wechsler, Zoe Barkhurst, Trey Wechsler (Kristina), Aiden Donaldson, Andrew Donaldson, and Winter Donaldson; and numerous nieces and nephews. Joyce was also preceded in death by her son, Ryan.

Above all, Joyce was herself—fully, authentically, and without apology. She leaves behind a legacy of sharp wit, strong opinions, well-worn books, and countless lives influenced by her words and her example.

In lieu of flowers, consider honoring Joyce by reading a banned book, arguing passionately for something you believe in, voting in every election, or correcting someone’s grammar (kindly, if possible—but Joyce might say that part is optional).

She would want the last word—but this will have to do.

The following is a summary of the many messages left on Joyce’s Facebook wall. They tell a remarkable and consistent story: she was a force of nature, a safe harbor, and a life-changing teacher. Former students, colleagues, friends, and family describe her as fiercely authentic—someone who lived loudly, spoke honestly, and never pretended to be anything other than who she was. Her sharp wit, sarcasm, and bold opinions were inseparable from her deep kindness and care for others.

Again and again, people wrote about how Joyce saw them—especially young people who felt invisible, unheard, or unsafe elsewhere. Her classroom was described as a refuge: a place of comfort, laughter, poetry, and truth. She encouraged students to speak up, write bravely, question authority, and believe their voices mattered. Many shared that Joyce quite literally helped them survive high school, discover their identity, find their confidence, or imagine a future they hadn’t thought possible.

Joyce’s advocacy extended far beyond academics. She defended her students fiercely, celebrated who they were, and stood beside them through hard moments—especially those navigating identity, rejection, or injustice. She made people feel worthy of being heard and deserving of better. Former students credit her with inspiring them to write, to teach, to live honestly, and to care deeply about the world around them.

What comes through most clearly is love. Joyce loved her students, her family, her friends, and her “kiddos,” and they loved her right back. She is remembered as unforgettable, irreplaceable, and deeply missed—someone whose impact will echo for decades in the lives she shaped, the words she encouraged, and the courage she helped others find.

Her legacy lives on in every voice she helped raise.

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