Joan Midori Hirabayashi Reichard was born in Hawaii on February 7, 1951, and passed to her rest in her home at Hartland on March 2, 2024, aged 73. Joan is survived by husband Richard, mother Dora (107 years old), brothers Glen, Dean, and Mark, daughters Midori and Aiko, and grandchildren Evangeline, Christian, Verity, Enoch, and Eden.

This video tells the story of her life from her birth and upbringing in Hawaii to her education and then later marriage in California to her years of motherhood in Ohio and then onto her closing decades in Virginia. Joan lived a life that impacted many people - may her legacy live on in our lives today

It was Thursday evening, Feb. 29, 2024, and I was working late again. I’d planned to leave at 6 pm to go and visit Mrs. Reichard (she’d asked for me to come visit her that evening), but I just couldn’t find a good stopping point. Finally, at 8:00 pm I forced myself to close my computer and go visit Mrs. Reichard.

I felt sad that she’d already retired for the night by the time I got there, but Mr. Reichard invited me to come in and sit down, and he pulled up a chair to talk. As we talked, he gently pushed a festive-looking bag my way—a belated Christmas gift that Mrs. Reichard had meant to give me—a bag of roasted cashews.

I don’t remember what we talked about. I just remember that suddenly the bedroom door was open, and I was being told that Mrs. Reichard wanted to see me.

She looked so frail and weak, but still with her sweet, loving smile as she stretched out her arms for a hug. She told Mr. Reichard to bring me a chair, and we sat and talked. I don’t know how long we talked—maybe 30–45 minutes? I just know that it felt too short, and I wished I could just stay by her side and never leave. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, but I struggled to find words, and my better judgment told me I should let her rest. She said she had tried to call me. (I had left my phone in the car. Later I saw her missed call at 8:15 pm—I was already at her house when she called!)

We talked a bit about her wishes for the memorial service. She confessed that she’d considered not even having a memorial service because she wanted the glory to go to God, not to her. “But I realize that people need closure,” she said.

She told me she was worried about my working too much. She said she’d even told the president recently, “You need to hire more people! Rachel is working too hard!”

She told me how much she appreciated the messages and cards she’d received—and “even the flowers,” she added with a smile. That was our secret, which she had told me just a few months earlier—that she didn’t care much for flowers. (She’d even completely forgotten about the white potted flowers I bought her for Mother’s Day when I was a student! lol) I laughed and told her about a phone call I’d gotten earlier that week from a friend who wanted to send her flowers and was asking for her address. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her that you don’t care much for flowers,” I said with a laugh. “I figured you’d still appreciate the thoughtfulness and you’d enjoy them anyways.” To which she heartily agreed.

I apologized for not coming to visit or even texting her. I explained that part of the reason wasn’t just busyness, but also trying to process everything and struggling with denial—not wanting to face the reality of her terminal illness.

She told me that I had inspired her to take cold showers. lol Apparently I must have told her that I always end my showers with a few seconds of cold, and she’d decided, “If Rachel can do it, I can do it too!”

I told her that she inspired me too. “How?” she asked in surprise. I told her that she inspired me to try to be strong and not cry, because I know that she’s not the emotional type, and so I’ve tried to follow her example and be strong for her. She said, “Well, I figure it [crying] doesn’t help anyone!”

Finally I forced myself to end my visit and let her get some rest. I hugged her again and said, “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “I love you too.” As I stepped back towards the doorway, she added, “You are precious.”

“Not as precious as you!” I retorted with an affectionate grin.

“Now, now, don’t argue,” Mr. Reichard interjected with a chuckle.

---

The next day, Friday, I left for a weekend choir trip. We spent the night at a church in Maryland, and when I woke up Sabbath morning, I received the heartbreaking news that Mrs. Reichard had passed away. That was the hardest choir trip I’ve ever been on—trying to smile through my tears while life carried on.

It’s almost as if Mrs. Reichard knew that she wouldn’t get another chance to see me—like she knew she was close to the end. I believe that’s why she called me to come and see her. I’m so glad I did, and that God gave me that special time with her so I’d have no regrets. She knew I loved her. ❤

---

This past year has felt so empty without Mrs. Reichard’s cheerful smile. Losing her has felt almost like losing my own mother. I can’t even find words adequate to describe how much she meant to me.

I first met Mrs. Reichard almost 25 years ago at Young Disciple Camp. I was a rebellious 13-year-old, and it was Mrs. Reichard’s job as the head girls’ counselor to give me a talking-to. I was expecting her to scold me or lecture me, but she didn’t do any of that. We just sat on a log near the lake, and she asked me questions about my life. She expressed a genuine interest in me, and I felt that she really cared. Many years later when we reminisced about those camp memories, she confessed that she actually had no idea what to say to me! But she gave me the gift of quality time, the gift of her sweet, caring presence, and that was just what I needed. In fact, I thank God that I got in trouble at camp that year, because through that experience, I saw the love of Jesus, and it changed my life.

There are so many other memories I could share about Mrs. Reichard and the lessons she taught me. But perhaps the one that made the deepest impression was her joy in suffering. I still see her beautiful smile every time I think of her. Nothing could steal her joy—not even cancer. Even when death stared her in the face, she was radiant and peaceful. Only one thing brought tears to her eyes—and that was the thought of how much we would miss her when she was gone. She cried not for herself, but for all of us who loved her. Mrs. Reichard was one of the most selfless people I know, and I want to be just like her, because she was like Jesus.

I remember the first time I met Joan (Im sure she would not remember) she was in 8th grade and we visited Kauai.  She accompanied the Yamashiro's and us to Barking Sands and Kokei.  Later we dated for a while.

I remember her as always kind and thoughtful of others.  No exceptions.  It is so nice to have memories like that of someone.  Don't be sad she is gone.  Be happy you were there.

My condolences to the Reichard family, 

I had a privilege of serving and learning from Mrs Reichard. She is a beautiful and very spiritual person. Very inspired by her life and commitment. She will be missed! 

Reinhard family,

My condolences to you. 

Joanie was one of my favorite classmates at La Sierra. Every time we met, we had a wonderful conversation. 

I miss her. 

Brian Ogata