Tributes To A Hero

I have gathered here some of the written tributes to Jason. If you wish to have something added, please email it to me and I will add it immediately (after review, of course).

This is courtesy of Vivian Baur:

I attended the funeral of SPC Jason N. Marchand on Saturday October 13, 2007. I don’t know him or really anyone in his family. Rob works with his brother. I knew that we had to go. I wanted to be there to honor him and to pay respects to this man who gave everything to protect my freedom. I knew that it would take most of my Saturday and that the kids might be bored and that it would cost money to get there BUT I had to go. I would not have missed it for much.

We walked up to the funeral home and saw the line of men and women standing there with flags, and I was touched. My heart was filled with emotion and gratitude long before we entered the funeral home. I knew it would be hard. I get emotional when I hear the national anthem or say the pledge of allegiance. I love this land and while I have never experienced a loss like what the Marchand family has. I would like to think that I have grieved with them to some degree. Whenever I hear of a soldier that has fallen either current or in past wars I shed some tears. I always seem to put myself in the place of his/her mother/wife/friend/sister/daughter. Jason is a hero and he deserves every honor and respect that we can give, but as I stood there listening and observing that funeral I thought of how Jason is every man or woman who has fallen. He represents each dear and unique individual who has given their lives so we can be free. Do we ever fully realize the price he and his family paid or the price so many who have come before him have paid? As I stood there watching the tears and glancing at the casket and hearing the sobs my heart was filled with thankfulness, to this family for letting him go. They knew full well the danger but also knew it had to be done. I don’t personally know one soldier who serves and I did not know Jason but I feel a connection because he was there protecting me. I wish I could express to him my gratitude, I wish I could express it to his family. I wish I could let them know that we are out there, the ones who care and support and appreciate and understand to some degree the sacrifice they are making.

Thank you Jason! You will always be remembered and appreciated.

When the funeral was over I got a chance to walk past his casket and the tears came. I saw for a moment his face, undamaged by the bomb that killed him. And I was touched. I saw the trinkets and mementos of love that were laid in the casket with him, a colored picture, a stuffed animal, a photo, all of which I am sure had a unique and precious story to go along with it. And I was touched. I held tightly to my girls hands and wondered what they were thinking. Do they understand? Do they know what has happened here? I walked thru the line of service men dressed in their best and I was touched. I walked outside to the beautiful sunshine and stood there waiting for the family to emerge and then the casket. I saw his mother and heard her tears of pain and I was touched. The funeral procession began, we were one of the last cars so we watched as the fire engines, ambulances and police cars went first then the motorcycles with their flags flying behind, and then the hearse…and I was touched. I don’t know how many cars were in the line, maybe 75. It was a long time before we moved. It took us almost an hour to reach the cemetery. Each intersection was blocked off by the emergency vehicles that had gone first and the traffic there just waited.

Along the way we saw cars stopped on the road and people standing on their porches or at the end of their driveways. They were holding flags or signs or had their hats/hands over their hearts. One girl stood out in front of a church with a large group of people, she stood very still with her hand over her heart and tears in her eyes. She did not see me but I saw her and for some reason she touched me so greatly. But there were many. So many people took time out of their day to pay respects to Jason. I saw a man sitting way up on a hill on the back of his pick up truck just sitting, watching. I could not tell if he was crying, I was too far away. Somehow I have to believe that he was. On we went, there were flags duct taped to whatever, a telephone poll or a gate. There were flags on the sides of garages. There were people, more and more people and they stood with such reverence and respect. Thank you, Jason You deserved it all. We finally reached the cemetery and still more stood. All the way up the road at the entrance. They stood, quiet and calm and reverent, honoring Jason and those who came to honor him. And I was touched.

We stood on the quiet hillside. I could not hear the service going on, we were too far back. We could however see the neatly dressed service men transfer the casket to the stand where Jason’s family sat waiting. It was moved with such precision and care. There in a line stood several veterans from previous wars. Some looked to have served in WW2. They stood proudly and quietly at attention while the bearers made their way with Jason’s body to his final resting place. My eyes welled up with tears and I was touched. We could not hear what was said. Occasionally we heard crying from some one close to him. Red White and Blue balloons were sent up along with 2 heart balloons. That was a beautiful and quiet site. Then the guns went off and Katie standing right in front of me jumped. He was saluted with 21 guns. He served his country well…then taps was played, my eyes filled with tears and I was touched. I was touched by all the men and women for whom this sad and eerie song has been played.

Betsy and Katie were great thru the whole thing. I know it was not the most fun thing they could have done. I am sure they could have thought of 10 things they would rather be doing. They complained initially until I told them what this was all about, the price Jason paid was huge and we owe him at least one day to say thank you. As soon as they realized what was happening I heard “I am sorry mom” They may not realize till they are much older the significance of this day but I know that someday they will look back and remember. They may not remember his name, but they will remember being there and honoring this war hero and they will be grateful for the freedom that he helped to give them. My hope and prayer is that Jason’s life was not lost in vain and that the freedom we enjoy today and have enjoyed for over 200 years will not pass away.

I hugged his mom and all I said was “I am sorry”. What does one say? I met his daughter and other relatives who were touched by the outpouring of love. We were told that the protesters were expected but they did not come. I am so glad that they stayed away. How could any one invade on a family’s grief by doing such a thing? It was a sad and somber day but I am grateful to have been a part of it. I am grateful to have the freedom to celebrate a life of someone so unselfish and someone willing to give so much when he knew the dangers. I am grateful for the freedom to choose what we do and who we worship and where we go and how we live. I am so grateful for this great nation where freedom gives some such a desire to be free that they willingly choose to go away from family and loved ones into mortal danger. It is inconvenient, lonely, scary and uncomfortable I am sure, and yet ones go.

Thank you Jason, I am touched.

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From www.bluegoldnews.com user "cmedic"

a Paratrooper is many things. Some troopers, knowing they are better than other men, say so. Others modestly keep this knowledge to themselves. But they have all done what not everyone can - they have met a fear that choked their throats and despite that fear, done everything that was asked of them . . . and more! Each of them made the same runs, overcame the same fear and took the same mental and physical punishment before they were qualified to stand before their comrades and receive the same "Silver Badge of Courage." Most of them became Airborne to prove something, either to themselves or to someone else. They all succeeded!

It is impossible to perfectly describe the American Paratrooper. Although he is similar to other men, you can't cut a Paratrooper and another man in half lengthwise, combining the two dissimilar halves to create a composite person, because that Paratrooper will always stand thirteen inches taller than any "Leg" you select. One famous Airborne General is reputed to have replied to the question "Why are you a Paratrooper?" by saying: "Not so much because I like to jump out of planes, but because I like to be with men who like to jump out of planes!"

Airborne!!!!!!!!!

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A Brave Man, My Brother

Corporal Jason Marchand

I did not grow up in the same house as Jason. I did not have the privilege of knowing him until I was 21 or so. That’s the unique thing about us, though; we are family, and last names and the perceptions of other people simply do not matter to us. When my father, Rich Parsons, married Jason’s mother Debbie, we went from simply knowing each other to being family.

The word “step-“ did not exist anywhere. Debbie has never called me her “step” son, nor has she ever treated me as such. The first time we had a family gathering with all of us “kids” there, there was no introduction as anything other than family. I still remember at a picnic at Dad’s house in Greenwood when both Wayne and Richard introduced me to others they knew as their “brother Eric.” It was the same with my sister, Jennifer, and being family, Wayne loves to tease her about being ancient; Jennifer is 32, but Wayne is 31, you see, and that is simply better.

Plus, it could be construed as annoying. It’s really not, but it’s the sort of in-joke that family can enjoy.

We all have different last names, but it does not matter. The fact that we all love and care for each other is what defines our bond. Debbie did a terrific job raising my brothers; they are what a typical West Virginia family is defined by—caring, loving, hard-working, fun-loving, etc. I like to think that Jennifer and I turned out pretty good, too, and that’s what makes us a good unit together.

I shouldn’t have to explain that, but there are those who simply do not understand why I am carrying such a bright torch for Jason. It’s because I love him. I always have since I’ve known him, and I always will. The same goes for Wayne and Richard—two very fine men themselves. The fact is, regardless of how the world will see it, Jason is a large part of my life.

Where to start…

Jason was the quietest of us all. He was not shy, he was not aloof; but rather, he was simply the type of guy that didn’t always feel the need for a billion word quota each day. If you spoke to him, he answered you. If there was something he wanted to say, he told you. It’s just the way he was; quite the opposite from myself…and I know that my family and friends who are reading this are thinking “that’s certainly true; Eric is NEVER quiet.”

I got to know Jason by chatting with him, while drinking beer and watching TV with him in the living room at my Dad’s house. My fondest memory, however, was at a Shoney’s in Parkersburg, West Virginia, in April of 2004.

This was a special day then, and now, looking back, an even more special one now.

You see, we had just gotten through a 14-month terrifying hell together as a family—and Daddy was home from the war. I can’t remember the exact day that this was, but I do remember that it was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, standing on the lawn in front of the Armory on Blizzard Drive. We were waiting for the buses to pull up to give us our first glance, our first hug, in over a year to our heroes—the HHC 1092d Engineering Battalion was coming home from Iraq in one piece. I stood next to Jason, who was holding his daughter on his shoulders, all the while talking to just about everybody, my excitement growing. Dad had a cell phone on the bus, and would call every few miles to give an update where they were, and Debbie would yell it out:

“They’re in Ripley!”

The crowd would yell and cheer, the excitement growing. Tears of joy were flowing freely.

I wish I’d have known then what I know now; not only would I have appreciated it for the day that Dad returned home to a much-deserved hero’s welcome, but we were all bonding that day. I remember Richard wrestling around with my oldest boy, Jamey…and I remember Jason laughing when Jamey accidentally hit Richard in the groin. Richard, being the good sport that he is, took it all in stride.

Finally, we started to hear a dull roar from the main part of the town; when West Virginia welcomes their heroes home, they do it right—the town was FILLED with people. I am convinced that Parkersburg was doubled in size that day. Then the helicopters. The Parkersburg South High School band started playing “The Caissons Go Rolling Along.” I was cheering, but I was crying. I was so damn proud to be an American, a West Virginian, and a Parsons (and attached to the Adams, Marchands, etc.). Dad was going to see my youngest boy for only the 3rd or 4th time in Kristopher’s life; I recently found a picture of Dad holding my boys less than two weeks before his deployment. You can see a bit of dread in Dad’s eyes; it is certainly understandable!

After all the hubbub died down, we all packed it in to Shoney’s to have a celebration together. It was lucky for us that the restaurant was pretty much empty, since we loudly enjoyed each other’s company. I sat directly across from Jason.

I don’t recall everything we said to each other, but this was the most animated I had ever seen him. I had mentioned that I had tickets to go to the Alive! Festival in Canal Fulton, Ohio (it’s a Christian Music Festival lasting five days), and he perked up talking about one of the bands that was scheduled to be there, Audio Adrenaline. When my wife was suddenly not able to go later, and I had an extra ticket, I immediately thought of Jason, but unfortunately he was moving to New Mexico and couldn’t go. We had discussed plans to see Audio A whenever we could get together, but being young and dumb, we assumed that there would be plenty of time for that eventually, and we left it at that. There really was nothing special about anything we talked about, but I remember his enthusiasm while talking about his daughter, and while talking about things that interested him.

I remember the next time I saw Jason was shortly after he moved back from New Mexico, and how he was much quieter. He was still not cold, or rude; he seemed to me to be burdened with something, and very tired.

I remembered later in that day that he was enlisting in the Army. I thought, “Good for him,” in the way that you mean it non-sarcastically. I remember telling him that he would make us all proud.

This is where I began to mess up. We were invited to his AIT graduation, and for some reason, I turned it down. Same for his Airborne graduation. I don’t remember all of the details, but I do know that we were being selfish at the time. I have bruises from where I have been kicking myself.

I started to realize where I was making mistakes a short time later—my Dad called me and asked if I would be a chauffeur that night. You see, Jason was flying into Columbus, and he was surprising his mother with a visit. Dad simply could not think of a creative excuse to give to Debbie that would make his 8 hour absence to pick Jason up from the airport reasonable and not suspicious. I said that I would be glad to do it, and that it would be an honor and a privilege.

Later, Dad called and said that he would not need me after all, that he had told Debbie that my wife and I were fighting, and he was coming over to visit us (we live in Columbus) to help my mother-in-law smooth things over. I was a little disappointed, but figured that I would visit very shortly, and that was that.

I am very angry with myself for not insisting that I get to drive him home. I never got to see Jason after that day.

Shortly thereafter, Jason was sent to Germany as a part of the 2nd Stryker Cavalry Regiment. I remember when Dad told me to pray for him, since he was being sent to Iraq in the summer. I was not worried—nothing bad was going to happen; you see, when you grow up around the military as I had (and being in it, I was a member of the US Air Force Academy Class of 2000 until I injured my shoulder), you see loved ones go to war. Dad and Uncle Hap, my cousin Ryan, and numerous friends had all been to hell and back; the only slim connection I had to a casualty was through my wife. She knew PFC Chris Dixon (USMC), and Chris gave his life for our country in May of 2005. I figured that Jason would be home, and we would be there to celebrate. I already had something I was going to give to him.

Jason was a huge Steelers fan, and I used to be one, but after Super Bowl XL, I stopped caring about the NFL; however, a friend had given me a framed, signed, and authenticated poster of Ben Roethlisberger that he had won at an auction. I figured that Jason would enjoy it immensely, so I figured I would give it to him at his homecoming, explaining to my friend that I really enjoyed it, but Jason would love it more than I did, and I wanted something special to give him.

As I sit here and type this, I can look over my left shoulder, and there’s Ben—he’s releasing a pass with a determined look on his face. I have to turn away quickly, as the picture is a reminder of failure, of my own selfishness. I have beaten myself up over skipping opportunities to share in joyous occasions with my family because I wanted to sleep in, or whatever.

October 5, 2007, began as a typical Friday. Work was busy, but nothing special. The big tragedy at the time, or so it seemed, was that the Mountaineers had lost the previous week to South Florida. I was at Bible study in Worthington, Ohio, at a friend’s house when his phone rang. That was odd enough, but typically we didn’t answer once we got started. This time Jerry did, and it was my wife looking for me. Jerry handed me the phone, and I heard what are simply the most horrible words that have ever been spoken to me:

“Eric, you have to get home. Your brother was just killed in Iraq.”

Forgetting where I was, and who was there (some kids had just walked in with their parents), I swore somewhat loudly, and said “don’t go anywhere, I’ll be there as fast as I can.” I apologized to my friends, briefly told them what happened, but didn’t know any details and bolted out the door. I drove like a maniac down I-71, thinking only of Debbie, Dad, Richard, and Wayne, and wanting to know what happened. It took well over an hour to get in touch with Dad once I got home.

“What happened?!?” is what I remember yelling into the phone.

When I was done talking to Dad, I threw the phone against the wall, and wept for almost an hour. There was something I had forgotten at the office, and I went to retrieve it, and while there I sent out an email I never thought I’d have to write. Friends were calling us quickly and often, and I ended up unplugging the phone, as I was a genuine a**hole to anyone I talked to. It’s funny what something like this does to people.

We left for Greenwood the next day, and remember the house simply looking sad. I could not find words to say to Debbie, so I just hugged her. What the hell do you say? Everything’s going to be alright? Pure BS. He’s in a better place? It’s true, but nobody wants to hear it. I remember everybody looking like a zombie. I remember falling down the steps I was so disoriented.

We stayed the night, and drove Dad around visiting folks and gathering pictures from friends and family to use. We were trying to find out when Jason would be home, and we began worrying about protestors, like the idiots at the Westboro Baptist Church. We got phone calls promising an escort from the Patriot Guard Riders. Mostly we sat, stared, drank Jason’s favorite beer, and wept together.

I returned to Columbus that Sunday, since we didn’t know anything, and went to work. My boss, Greg Rich, greeted me with “Hi, Eric. How ya doin’? What the hell are you doing here? Go home. Now.” (I have to say that the compassion that my company showed me and my family was very, very comforting at the time.) I did leave at noon, and after making a DVD for Jason, I drove back to Greenwood alone. My wife and boys were going to come down that Wednesday.

Thursday, October 11, was when Jason returned to West Virginia. They flew him into Bridgeport, West Virginia. What I remember most that day is how cold and windy and miserable it was. It seemed appropriate. Then, all of a sudden, the charter jet that had Jason on it came into view and landed. Debbie had to be held up as the plane was stopped nearby. I remember being okay until they opened the door, and I saw the awful (and, somehow, comforting) sight of the flag-draped casket. I lost it. The drive back to West Union was a long, slow, painful one; one in which we played several songs (“Some Gave All,” “If You’re Reading This,” “Arlington,” and “God Bless The USA”) over and over. We saw people stopped along US Route 50 weeping and holding their hands over their hearts. The new middle school had the entire student body and faculty outside doing the same. There were idiots that kept trying to cut into the line (one made the mistake of trying to cut Wayne off), but by and large, being West Virginia, we were made to feel like we were all one family, and the whole state was mourning with us.

The viewing was not until the next morning, and up until then, I was hoping that there would be a mistake. There wasn’t, and it was almost too much to bear. The outpouring of love from our friends, neighbors, and fellow families of KIA was overwhelming. My coworkers sent a wreath, but what was better was the message with it—written by my buddy forever, Rob Baur—was what really touched me. My wife’s employer sent a beautiful quilt that was decorated with American flags, and I was stunned; they certainly had no obligation to do so. That day was largely a blur, but I remember not wanting to leave; I didn’t want Jason to be lonely.

The funeral is very hard to remember every detail. I, along with my family, was given the Army Gold Star Pin, something I cherish, and Jason was presented with his Purple Heart and his Bronze Star for his bravery. I looked up from my seat, and I saw my friends from work walk in the door; I am still amazed that they would drive the 4 hours from Columbus (one way) just to hang out with me and my family and to be sure we were okay. The entire route to the cemetery was lined with folks with flags, many weeping openly. There are a few other things; I choose, however, to keep those to myself.

I simply wish that I could go back in time and re-write a little bit of history; the one lesson that I have learned from all of this is that I should never take my loved ones for granted, and that I should always be prepared to tell them that I love them. I would go back and undo the selfish things that kept me from family gatherings.

And if I could speak to Jason one more time, I would simply tell him: Thanks, bro, for being who you are, for being so brave, and willing to put your life aside for mine. Thank you a million times over for helping to keep my family safe and free. Words cannot tell you how grateful I am that you exist, but you didn’t simply exist, you made an effort. I owe you a debt that I cannot pay, but I promise to carry forth your legacy in such a way that you will still be proud to call us all family. Jason, from the bottom of my heart, I love you, I miss you, and I cannot wait to see you again, and we’ll finally get to see Audio Adrenaline for the first time.

Your Brother,

Eric

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From my son’s first grade teacher, Jackie Breidenbach:

Thank you so much for the photos of Jason. We have proudly displayed them next to an American Flag that Jamey’s classmates created. On the day we made this flag, we remembered all of our troops who give so much for our country. Jason was certainly one of these amazing individuals. Jamey proudly shares stories about his Uncle which made the activity very meaningful to our students. To make the stripes on the flag, the students painted their hands and used their handprints to make each red stripe. As the students put their hands next to their classmate’s hand print, many of them said a special thank you to Jason for helping to keep us safe. As Jamey said, “his picture looks really good up there next to the American flag.” Although I did not know Jason, I couldn’t agree more. Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am for your loss, nor can they express how grateful I am for individuals such as your brother who carry out such brave and selfless acts each day. I would like to say thank you to you, your family, and Jason for you sacrifice. I feel honored to display his picture.

I also had the privilege to visit the website for the scholarship fund. What a wonderful tribute and idea to honor a hero. I have already told several people about your site and I wish all the best for this fund. I think it is truly amazing what you and your family are doing to share Jason’s story. Jamey often thinks about his Uncle and proudly shares what a great individual he was to take such a risk. As Jamey shares his story, it is very clear that he loves his Uncle and misses him very much. Please know that your family remains in our thoughts each day. If there is anything at all we can do, please let me know.

Sincerely,

Jackie Breidenbach

(As an aside, I frequently give out small wallet-sized photos of Jason to people who I think would appreciate them. I gave one to Jamey's teacher, partly because she is a wonderful person and has been very supportive, but also because she hung it up in the classroom--which helped Jamey tremendously.--Eric)

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Tributes To A Hero

From my son’s first grade teacher, Jackie Breidenbach: