Final Expenses & Memorial for Peggie Bouse

My name is Derek Bouse. On July 31st, my mom, Peggie Bouse, gained her angel wings. Mom was a hero. She was an activist, a humanitarian, a poet, and a forever rebel. With gratitude and hope, we are raising funds to pay for her final expenses, memorial, and the celebration of life event we plan to host in the Fall of 2023.

Marguerite “Peggie” Bouse Visavati spent her life taking care of others. I hope that through this effort we can give her the final rest she deserves and honor her legacy of service to our family and the many lives she touched through her work with MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) and victims advocacy.

My mom has always been a fierce presence in my life. From my earliest memories, she was there, working relentlessly to care for me and my brother. Sometimes it was just the three of us, but often it was also a gaggle of aunts and cousins. Some of my favorite memories are hearing her and her siblings singing together and telling the crazy stories of their youth.

Mom never took the easy road and she never backed down from a fight. She had two biracial children in the late 60s and early 70s in Patterson, New Jersey. She took whatever work she could find—candy-striper in labor and delivery, custodian work at the school, bartending, etc. When she met our stepdad, my brother and I were in our early teens and mom was eager to get us away from the streets and possible danger.

By the mid-80s we were two mixed teenagers in very rural Pennsylvania with step-siblings and a towering Polish dad. For the first time, Mom didn’t have to work and perhaps she was able to relax a little. But, on September 14, 1986, on a winding country road deep in the woods… everything changed forever.

I was seventeen, growing into my adult height, built for my preferred sport of wrestling. Geno was fifteen, a talented baseball player coming home from a soccer tournament. I’d been at a party and a mutual acquaintance stopped by the party and agreed to give a few of us a ride and pick up my brother. I jumped into the passenger seat of his red truck and the others climbed into the back. We didn’t know he had been drinking.

A missed curve later, my brother was ejected and the truck caught fire, pinning my legs. I came to at various times in a series of hospitals. When I asked about my brother, I was told he just had a broken leg. It was weeks later, after the amputations and skin grafts, that my mom and stepdad finally told me that Geno had never made it out of those woods alive. It was the first time I ever saw that man cry and that’s when I knew it was true. They said they didn’t tell me before because my condition was too fragile and they feared I would give up if I knew.

Mom turned her grief into action, her fierce love channeled into purpose. She became involved in Mothers Against Drunk Driving and eventually founded the Bradford County chapter of the organization. She spoke across the state, telling her story and reliving that nightmare over and over again as she addressed offenders, lawmakers, and schools. She shared her story in hopes to bring awareness to the reality and risk of drinking and driving. She was told by many that her story helped people change their outlook and behaviors—potentially saving many lives.

Once I healed enough, I sometimes joined her. She petitioned to get a law passed and got a memorial brick with Geno’s name placed near the Capitol in Harrisburg. She seemed to be constantly on the road in meetings, speaking somewhere, and earning accolades and awards. Later, she continued her mission as a victim advocate in a neighboring county. It drove my dad crazy as the phone rang at all hours, but Mom would always jump to attention and head out to support others.

After the hospital and recovery, I in time settled down and had two amazing kids—a son, and a daughter that could not be more different, but equally talented. My son is the scholar (a school teacher) and my daughter is the healer (a reiki and yoga instructor). Mom was a blessing as I found work as an emergency dispatcher, the one job I thought I could make a difference in from my chair. She never hesitated to keep the kids when we needed and she spoiled them rotten.

I still wanted to work and serve my community for as long as I could. I held my job as a 911 dispatcher for nearly 20 years until my shoulders eventually gave out from wheeling and I had to go on disability—leaving me on a very fixed income, which is why I am unfortunately not able to fund this for Mom myself.

Eventually, my step-dad’s health declined and Mom took care of him in his final days as she had many others through the years. The wear and tear on her body finally caught up to her. Two knee replacements, a series of spinal fusions, and years of declining health left her in a wheelchair and eventually bedridden. The last decade has been a series of hospitals, rehabilitation centers, and nursing homes. Her final chapter has now come to an end, as she crossed over surrounded by the love of her family.

I truly appreciate you taking the time to read our story. If you have ever felt connected to or positively impacted by my family or our story and have the ability to help... it would mean so much if you could support us in setting to rest and celebrating the matriarch of our lineage. She is the reason we are all here. Through tragedy and grief—Mom was our lighthouse. She showed us the way to hope and freedom and we would love to honor her memory as she deserves.