MONROE - The moment Monroe native and Paris resident Heather Olson-Marchand read a localized news alert on her phone informing her that explosions had been reported at the Stade de France just outside of Paris on Friday night, dread took over.
"It popped up and my heart fell into my feet," she said. "I tried to call my husband, and I couldn't get through."
Her husband, Guillaume Marchand, had left earlier for the stadium in Saint-Denis just miles from the nation's capital to take in a friendly soccer match between France and Germany. The 80,000-capacity venue held a number of French natives like Marchand, including the president of France Francois Hollande. Olson-Marchand was at home with her sleeping son, Winston, who will be three years old next month.
For 20 minutes, panic took hold. Worst-case scenarios of what would come next filled her mind - from how difficult it might be to locate Marchand due to her limited French vocabulary to how long it would possibly take to declare her husband dead. Cell phone service was failing due to the large call volume and, though Marchand kept trying to reach his wife, it was futile.
"I was just sick," Olson-Marchand said. "I went into my son's room, I kissed him, and I just said "Daddy loves you.'"
Once the game ended, fans were held on the pitch until safety could be ensured. Eventually, a call went through, and Marchand was just able to tell his wife he was "OK" before it failed again. Instantly at ease, Olson-Marchand said she turned on the television news to receive more details. Through the use of a messaging app on their phones, Marchand was able to explain he was being held at the stadium and even send photos of the crowd gathered on the field.
Grateful the authorities had decided to keep everyone inside, Olson-Marchand told her husband as much and was glad to shake the worry of being left alone in a country not her own.
"I had all of this fear and panic and anxiety," she said. "When I got that initial contact with him ... I was so happy the French government wouldn't let people out. I was the most happy when I got the text that he was outside and in the car."
The explosion was the action of a single terrorist just outside the gate of the stadium around 8:30 p.m. local time. Fans heard another just a few minutes later, but were unsure as to the cause. The man who heralded the first one had a ticket to the match and had tried to gain entry but was refused after security discovered he was wearing a suicide vest. While he attempted to back away from the guards, he detonated the explosives. The attempt to cause mass injuries at the venue was part of coordinated efforts by extremists unhappy with Western involvement in Syria. Not far away at the popular Bataclan Concert Hall and neighboring restaurants, people were being wounded in hails of gunfire.
"This Thanksgiving there's a little bit more to be thankful for," Olson-Marchand said. "I feel sorry for the innocent bystanders who can't say the same. What hurts the most is the innocent people who were harmed in the way of radicalism."
Life has been subdued in the capital city since the attacks, Olson-Marchand said. A friend witnessed police with guns pointed at a vehicle as she was leaving the grocery store. Scores of children were absent from classes Monday. People in the bustling city were calmer, less rushed.
Olson-Marchand's mother, Diane Olson, said news of the attacks came through a chain of friends. The fear she felt for her own daughter was quickly put at ease because of the time difference, but she said she has been hopeful the couple moves away from the area receiving attention from terrorists.
"It could have been much worse," Olson said. "That is a hotspot right now. It makes me uneasy."
Half a world away and more than two decades ago, the Marchands met under much calmer conditions. Marchand, then a senior foreign exchange student at Monroe High School, met Olson-Marchand. A two-year age gap did little to keep the talkative teens apart, though the looming presence of Olson-Marchand's then football player boyfriend did. Marchand was deterred from pursuing the girl of his dreams by his host family and instead became a good friend to his now wife throughout his year of academics and time spent on the tennis court. However, years passed and the advantage of technology reunited the two. Not long after, Marchand declared his love of nearly 18 years. The couple married in Spring Green in October 2011.
Now, the couple has been weighing the options of moving out of France and back to the United States due to the increasing violence Paris has endured this year. However, they find the option a bit daunting as well. Olson-Marchand said the last thing they would like to do is move to a place where their son could be placed in danger while attending school not because of an organized act of terror but rather an act of violence by fellow students or people within a community. The changes in the world are something she said she thinks of often while raising her son.
"The thing that makes me the most sad is that this is going to be a new conversation," Olson-Marchand said. "One I'm going to have to have with my son that my parents never had to have with me."
"It popped up and my heart fell into my feet," she said. "I tried to call my husband, and I couldn't get through."
Her husband, Guillaume Marchand, had left earlier for the stadium in Saint-Denis just miles from the nation's capital to take in a friendly soccer match between France and Germany. The 80,000-capacity venue held a number of French natives like Marchand, including the president of France Francois Hollande. Olson-Marchand was at home with her sleeping son, Winston, who will be three years old next month.
For 20 minutes, panic took hold. Worst-case scenarios of what would come next filled her mind - from how difficult it might be to locate Marchand due to her limited French vocabulary to how long it would possibly take to declare her husband dead. Cell phone service was failing due to the large call volume and, though Marchand kept trying to reach his wife, it was futile.
"I was just sick," Olson-Marchand said. "I went into my son's room, I kissed him, and I just said "Daddy loves you.'"
Once the game ended, fans were held on the pitch until safety could be ensured. Eventually, a call went through, and Marchand was just able to tell his wife he was "OK" before it failed again. Instantly at ease, Olson-Marchand said she turned on the television news to receive more details. Through the use of a messaging app on their phones, Marchand was able to explain he was being held at the stadium and even send photos of the crowd gathered on the field.
Grateful the authorities had decided to keep everyone inside, Olson-Marchand told her husband as much and was glad to shake the worry of being left alone in a country not her own.
"I had all of this fear and panic and anxiety," she said. "When I got that initial contact with him ... I was so happy the French government wouldn't let people out. I was the most happy when I got the text that he was outside and in the car."
The explosion was the action of a single terrorist just outside the gate of the stadium around 8:30 p.m. local time. Fans heard another just a few minutes later, but were unsure as to the cause. The man who heralded the first one had a ticket to the match and had tried to gain entry but was refused after security discovered he was wearing a suicide vest. While he attempted to back away from the guards, he detonated the explosives. The attempt to cause mass injuries at the venue was part of coordinated efforts by extremists unhappy with Western involvement in Syria. Not far away at the popular Bataclan Concert Hall and neighboring restaurants, people were being wounded in hails of gunfire.
"This Thanksgiving there's a little bit more to be thankful for," Olson-Marchand said. "I feel sorry for the innocent bystanders who can't say the same. What hurts the most is the innocent people who were harmed in the way of radicalism."
Life has been subdued in the capital city since the attacks, Olson-Marchand said. A friend witnessed police with guns pointed at a vehicle as she was leaving the grocery store. Scores of children were absent from classes Monday. People in the bustling city were calmer, less rushed.
Olson-Marchand's mother, Diane Olson, said news of the attacks came through a chain of friends. The fear she felt for her own daughter was quickly put at ease because of the time difference, but she said she has been hopeful the couple moves away from the area receiving attention from terrorists.
"It could have been much worse," Olson said. "That is a hotspot right now. It makes me uneasy."
Half a world away and more than two decades ago, the Marchands met under much calmer conditions. Marchand, then a senior foreign exchange student at Monroe High School, met Olson-Marchand. A two-year age gap did little to keep the talkative teens apart, though the looming presence of Olson-Marchand's then football player boyfriend did. Marchand was deterred from pursuing the girl of his dreams by his host family and instead became a good friend to his now wife throughout his year of academics and time spent on the tennis court. However, years passed and the advantage of technology reunited the two. Not long after, Marchand declared his love of nearly 18 years. The couple married in Spring Green in October 2011.
Now, the couple has been weighing the options of moving out of France and back to the United States due to the increasing violence Paris has endured this year. However, they find the option a bit daunting as well. Olson-Marchand said the last thing they would like to do is move to a place where their son could be placed in danger while attending school not because of an organized act of terror but rather an act of violence by fellow students or people within a community. The changes in the world are something she said she thinks of often while raising her son.
"The thing that makes me the most sad is that this is going to be a new conversation," Olson-Marchand said. "One I'm going to have to have with my son that my parents never had to have with me."