P.K. Fields Reich

My mother died in an unexpected accident at her home on Friday night in Baltimore. I want to take a brief moment to honor her life. She was admitted into the first ever female class at John’s Hopkins (a huge accomplishment, because before that, it was men only). She ran a private eye surgery practice for years. She went to Africa multiple times to operate on entire villages to literally heal the blind. She helped anyone who didn’t have money - despite never having much of her own. She gave her life to Christ when she was 42, and never looked back. She lived in God’s grace. For the few who knew her, you know she was incredibly intelligent, kind, and unyielding in her faith and values. She also loved me fiercely despite her difficulty showing it. But she was always proud. Always available. Always genuine. And truly did not care what anyone thought besides Jesus. Also… She was a great stay at home movie date. We’d get double features on the weekends. And I’d get to pick one candy. She was a great cook and liberal with her use of butter. I only found out as an adult that the proper way to make Mac n cheese was not simply “melt a stick of butter then add noodles & powder.” This method also applied to eggs, steak, most other things worth eating. She could hold her liquor like a champ and was always down for a good time. On her good days - she was honestly wonderful to be around. That being said, she was also a terrible driver. She was disorganized, clumsy, could not remember where she put her keys, wallet, phone, shoes or whatever she was looking for - ever. And she’d argue about anything. And that was Florence. No matter what you thought of her, she was consistent. And she bent for no one. Florence was a ball of goodness that struggled to deal with the world around her. She suffered her own demons. And near the end was in great mental and physical pain. Now that she has passed, her pain has ended. And she can finally reunite with her Creator. I hope her worldview is right and she is welcomed home in His arms with a message we’d all want: “well done my good and faithful servant.” Maman, I will miss you.