On April 10, 2026, Ann Candace (Candy) Farrar Johnsey went home to Heaven to be with her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. She passed away at age 74 in Dallas, Texas, after a courageous battle with dementia. If you had simply met Candy, you might not have guessed the depth of the life she led or the extraordinary number of lives she touched. She was not one to boast. She was one to do. And what she did, quietly and with fierce devotion, shaped her family, her community, and the lives of countless children who had no one else to fight for them.

Born on May 10, 1951, in Nashville, Tennessee, Candy was the first daughter of the late Ann Dickson Wharton Farrar and Moulton Farrar III — and the first-born grandchild in both the Wharton and Farrar families, a distinction that made her especially adored. Her great-grandmother, Candace (Granny) Burton, held a particular tenderness for her. Candy grew up attending Woodmont Christian Church every Sunday alongside her sisters and her beloved grandmother, Addie Burton Wharton (Nana), one of the church's founders. Nana donated the cross that still stands at the front of the sanctuary, placed in memory of Candy's grandfather, Frank White Wharton. Faith, family, and belonging were woven into Candy from the very beginning.

Those early years were filled with the kind of joy that stays with a person forever. Summers brought long days at Camp Riva-Lake, where Candy played basketball, chased tennis balls, and rode horses with a freedom that suited her perfectly. She and her sisters made happy memories aboard the family houseboat on Old Hickory Lake, "The Fairer Lady," a name that felt entirely right for the family gathered on it. She graduated from Harpeth Hall School in 1969.

When Candy went on to attend Birmingham-Southern College, an SAE and KD mixer changed her life forever. She met Ron Johnsey, and it was love at first sight — a torrid romance that led to marriage just a year later. That union, built on deep love and even deeper partnership, lasted 56 years.

From the very beginning, Candy was the force behind her family's success. When Ron pursued his MBA at Emory University and later his law degree at Cumberland School of Law, Candy was right beside him — researching, writing, and editing his coursework, all while working full time. Ron will tell you plainly: without her, he would not have made it. At Georgia Power and later Alabama Power Company, she became the company's media representative during fierce public battles over electricity rate increases, authoring in-house publications and press releases and working directly with the CEO and company lawyers. By every measure, she was a professional of remarkable skill and poise.

But Candy's truest calling was her children. After Ron graduated from law school, she set aside her rising career without a second thought and poured herself into motherhood — the work she considered the most important of her life. Whatever her children were doing, Candy was in the middle of it. She led Cub Scout troops and ran daughter Molly's club soccer team — hiring coaches, recruiting players, keeping the books, and chairing team meetings. She showed up, every time, for every child.

Woven alongside that devotion was a fierce commitment to children who had no one else to fight for them. She first volunteered at a foster home in Atlanta, giving foster parents a much-needed break. When the family settled in Dallas, she channeled that passion into the Junior League of Dallas and Dallas CASA, becoming a court-appointed advocate for abused and neglected children. She took her assignments into homes — often unannounced, sometimes into harm's way — to observe a child's care. She didn't care about the risk. She cared about the children.

Candy grew up with a mother who made Christmas the center of the family's year, and she carried that tradition forward with joy. For more than twenty years, she brought the family to Nashville for the holidays — Christmas Eve dinners for twenty or more, mountains of gifts, and a family choir that canvassed the neighborhood collecting donations for the Fanny Battle Day Home, a charity her grandmother had supported. In the summers, she and her best friend would load the kids into the SUV for adventures — trips to visit the Amish, to Wrigley Field, to the Bell Witch, and wherever else curiosity took them. When the family simply wanted to be together, there was the cabin in Camden, Tennessee, and the lake and the pontoon boat.

Over the years, Candy became a devoted collector of fine English Earthenware and primitive American antiques, developing encyclopedic knowledge of Toby Jugs, Staffordshire, and Chelsea porcelain. She also had a deep tenderness for animals — at one point caring for six dogs and a handful of stray cats. One of those cats, Jessie, is nineteen years old today.

Candy is survived by her husband of 56 years, Ronald (Ron) Grant Johnsey, Sr., and their three children and grandchildren: R. Grant Johnsey, Jr., and his wife Karin and their son Elijah; Ann Moulton Hayes and her husband Brendan and their children Maddie and Moulton; and Burton Farrar Johnsey and his wife Arisa. She is also survived by her sisters Lucile F. Crouch of Dallas, Texas, and Adelaide F. Pratt (Jerry) and Lynne F. Robertson (Ken) of Nashville, Tennessee.

Candy Johnsey was the kind of woman who made everything around her better and never asked for the credit. She was a devoted wife, a tireless mother, a fierce protector of vulnerable children, and the beating heart of her family. She has gone home — and Heaven is richer for it.

A celebration of Candy's life will be held at a future date to be announced.

In lieu of flowers, the family welcomes donations to Investing in the Success of Foster Youth at www.isfsite.org, a cause that raises funds to help foster children attend college — a mission close to Candy's heart.