Joyce E. Boyce

“Ego amo te”—I love you. Joyce Elaine (Pequignot) Boyce lived those words fully, freely, with devotion, and without condition. She “got her wings” on May 11, 2026, at the age of 87, after holding on for one more Mother’s Day with her children.

Joyce was born March 14, 1939, in Fort Wayne, to Arthur Francis and Nellie Mae (Rice) Pequignot. She never lost sight of where she came from. “I came from people who knew how to live together,” she would say. “I always say I didn’t come from money—I came from people.” Her mother was “organized, particular, and capable.” Her father was “gentle, moral, and thoughtful.” “They were different, but they fit. They matched.” That early example stayed with her and shaped a lifetime of relationships rooted not in sameness, but in balance, patience, and quiet understanding.

“I loved school. I really did.” Joyce demonstrated it. She graduated as co valedictorian of Central Catholic High School in 1957, alongside Paul Achille Boyce, the classmate who would become her husband. “We liked each other’s brains first,” she said. She was drawn to structure and meaning. “I loved the ritual. I loved the beauty. I loved knowing where to stand and what came next.” And then, with characteristic simplicity: “Once I bloomed, I bloomed.”

She continued her education at St. Mary of the Woods, graduating in 1961 and carrying forward a conviction about the purpose of learning. “Education makes the man and that man will educate another man and another and another… bringing forth gifted children who will be the great thinkers of the ever changing world.” For Joyce, this was never theory. She lived it—in classrooms, at home, and in the countless everyday moments that formed the lives around her.

Her relationship with Paul began with motion and intention. “He knocked on the door, and I slid across the hardwood floor like I was stealing second base.” It then became the story of when Joyce “fell” for Paul. “I wrote letters every day. Every day,” she said of their courtship. “I think writing letters saved a lot of marriages before they ever started. Write things down. Don’t rely on memory alone. Words matter.” She believed in presence, in communication, and in the small disciplines that sustained relationships over time.

On June 10, 1961, Joyce married Paul, and together they built a life that was full, complex, and deeply rooted in family. She gave birth to nine children—Paul (Sara), Michael (Lani), Patrick (Mattie), Timothy (Denise), Molly (Kevin Anderson), Kathleen (Kelly Williams), Margaret “Peggy” (Jon Parmenter), Thomas (Deanna), and Séamus (Erin)—and raised them in a home defined by constant motion, resilience, humor, and an underlying steadiness that rarely needed to announce itself.

She never romanticized the scale of what she was doing. “People ask how we did it. You don’t do it—you adjust.” And more plainly, “Either I change, or I go crazy.” Over time, she refined that into something even more enduring: “I learned that being flexible was the secret.” And finally, the clearest statement of all: “You don’t need control. You need rhythm.”

Joyce was modest. As her son Paul reflected, she “would quietly show by example and action.” That quiet consistency defined her. She did not seek attention for what she did; she simply did what was needed. Her influence accumulated over time, not through single moments, but through repetition—through being present again and again.

She was a guardian—watchful, steady, and quietly sacrificial in ensuring her children were safe, supported, and guided. That sense of guardianship extended well beyond her immediate family. When someone lacked support, Joyce made room. She had a way of expanding the circle without announcing that she was doing it. She practiced trust and generosity instinctively. Sometimes that came at a cost, but more often it changed lives. There was something quietly powerful in the way she moved through the world—so much so that one reflection described her as witnessing “mysteries and miracles,” perhaps in part because there was something both grounded and quietly remarkable about her presence.

Her life showed up in practical ways—helping with Cub Scouts, serving as a room mother, teaching children, supporting religious education, caring for families, opening her home, running what many remembered simply as a “boarding house,” but which functioned as something larger: a place of belonging. Mom’s community was her family, her home. She didn’t separate family from community; she expanded family until they became the same.

Joyce loved children and had a natural, unmistakable gift with them. She delighted in each of her 23 grandchildren and two great grandchildren — Jordan, Lauren, Cordelia, Emily (Veronica), Nick (Emily), Erin (Patrick), Noah, Sophie (Nick (Eloise, Ian)), Aidan, Ingrid, Bridget (Kevin), Danny, Clay, Brendan, Claire, Ryan, Ben, Luke, Drew, Nate, Lena, Nellie, and Vera—and embraced her role as “Granny” with humor, warmth, and full presence.

Her love extended beyond people to the natural world. She was a true environmentalist long before she would have used that term. She protected wildlife habitats because it mattered to her. She especially loved birds, but also animals more broadly, finding a quiet joy in watching and preserving their place. Music was another constant. She filled her home with it throughout her life, weaving it into the rhythm of family life. She also enjoyed classic cars, books, and following sports—often through the steady voice of talk radio, another form of rhythm in her daily life.

Her faith was steady but honest. “I don’t think God needs perfection,” she said. “I think God needs honesty.” That belief allowed her to live without pretense. She understood something that many miss: “Don’t rush your life. Most of it happens quietly.” It was not resignation—it was recognition.

To her children, she made something unmistakably clear: “You were never a burden. You were my life.” She taught them to love fully, forgive freely, show up when it mattered, and to keep their sense of humor even when circumstances suggested otherwise. To her grandchildren, she offered something equally simple and lasting: “Pay attention. Be kind. Learn to sit still sometimes.” It was not instruction for a moment, but for a lifetime.

Joyce was preceded in death by her husband, her brothers Richard (“Dick”) and James (“Jim”), and her parents. She is survived by her children, her grandchildren and great grandchildren, her beloved sister Judy, and a wide extended family that continues to grow from the foundation she helped build.

Calling will be held Tuesday, May 19, from 3:00 to 7:00 p.m. at Leppert Mortuary, 740 East 86th Street, Indianapolis, Indiana. A Funeral Mass will be celebrated Wednesday, May 20, at 10:00 a.m. at Immaculate Heart of Mary, 5692 Central Avenue, Indianapolis. Interment will follow at Catholic Cemetery, 3500 Lake Avenue, Fort Wayne, Indiana, where she will be laid to rest alongside Paul.

Her most simple wisdom remains as clear and practical as ever: “If you love each other and keep your sense of humor, you’ll be all right.” And in the spirit of how she lived, her family suggests intentionally doing something small yet consistent over time. Cast seeds where they may grow. Be present and love those in your community. Be “there” for someone without being asked. Donate time or treasure to a charitable organization focused on nature. Do something and remember her when you do it. It would make her smile.