Emotional Sendoff for Local Legend

Even before the eulogizing began on Thursday, the enormity of the void created by Ben Parsons’ tragic death was evident as more than 1,400 people gathered to memorialize the local firefighter and endurance athlete who touched all corners of the community.

Inside the Expo Building at the Flathead County Fairgrounds, firefighters, paramedics and first responders from across Montana flanked the perimeter while hundreds of friends filled the auditorium. Photographs of the 36-year-old Kalispell native depicted a ubiquitous backdrop of snow-marbled mountains, his preferred environment, and a crooked smile always on the verge of laughter.

In a series of moving eulogies, friends and family honored Parsons, who died Jan. 5 in an avalanche while backcountry skiing on Stanton Mountain in Glacier National Park.

With every story shared and tear shed, a clearer and more balanced picture of Parsons emerged — self-assured yet selfless, resolute but not righteous, otherworldly yet grounded — until the mourning and storytelling had delivered a portrait of a young father, husband, son, brother, and friend whose accomplishments will continue to shine on those who knew him.

No one who spoke was reduced to employing platitudes, but rather had been so touched by their connection to Parsons that they embodied a piece of him.

Justin Woods grew up with Parsons, and later worked with him at the Whitefish Fire Department. He recalls a chance encounter with Parsons in Moab, Utah, nearly a decade ago, during which Parsons laid out his plan to quit his job, attend paramedic school and become a firefighter.

Knowing the competitive nature of the profession, Woods was skeptical, but “just like everything else in Ben’s life, he didn’t see difficulties in the same way that you and I do.”

Within a year, Parsons had been “hired over dozens of more qualified and experienced applicants,” Woods said, adding that the real reason he was “fast tracked into our band of brothers faster than anyone else was the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye.”

An accomplished mountaineer and climber, Woods spent considerable time in the mountains with Parsons, and said the pair spoke often about the calculated risk one takes when traveling in a wild environment, as well as the associated reward of pushing physical and philosophical boundaries and the self-growth it promotes.

“It is with great sadness that Ben’s death serves as a stark reminder of the danger that hides in the raw world of rock, snow, ice, and wilderness. We must acknowledge the risk of going to these places,” he said. “In hindsight, we will identify ways in which this could have been prevented. But in the end, it comes down to, for some of us, an undeniable need to worship the majestic beauty of this dangerous alpine world. At first glance, this addiction to the mountains seems self-serving, but I would challenge that notion. If Ben had lived a more conventional, dare I say safer life, he might still be with us today.

“But let’s be honest: Ben touched us all because of who he was. And there is no denying that Ben was who he was in part because of the time Ben spent in these mountains. He did more than just go to these places; he went there and brought back that smile on his face and that twinkle in eye. He carried the majesty of these places back to our day-to-day world.”

Josie Parsons, Ben’s younger sister, told stories of growing up with her best friend, and how as they grew older having to come to terms with sharing his infectious nature with others.

“There is no love like the love for a brother, and there is truly no love like the love from my brother,” she said. “Everyone deserves to have a taste of what it feels like to be loved by him.”

Ben’s father, Larry Parsons, asked his son’s friends to remember their last face-to-face moment with Ben.

“I am going to bet that Ben put his face close to yours. And you allowed him to. He looked into your eyes. He could tell immediately what you were feeling and what you needed. There was no judgment. There was no ego. He told you that he loved you, and he meant it,” he said. “When Ben spoke, we listened, because every sound that came from him exuded love and joy.

“I am sad but I am not sorry because I had 36 years with him,” he said. “I feel like I am the luckiest dad alive.”

Jen Parsons, Ben’s wife and the mother of their young son, Rowen, said her husband exuded a rare brand of hopefulness during their time together, and a confidence that around every bend lay great opportunities.

“This hope came up at various points in our relationship, points that were so good and so rich that it seemed ridiculous to take another step and threaten to mess it all up,” she said.

“As we transitioned from being friends to dating, from dating to engaged, from engaged to marriage, from marriage to parenting, he broke trail in each of these areas, always ready for the next step before me, always respectful of where I was and letting me advance if and when I chose. In my fear of not wanting to let go of what we already had that was so good, he was always confident, fully confident, that whatever was ahead was better than what we were leaving behind. This is the thought that I find consolation in today, that even though the void is so expansive, even though there will never be another Benny P., I lean into what he has taught me all along. I invite you to join me in the impossible belief that what is ahead is better than we can imagine. Ben is fully confident of it, and that’s enough for me.”

As the ceremony concluded, members of the Honor Guard presented American flags to the family before members of the Whitefish Fire Department performed a ringing of the bell ceremony for their fallen friend, retiring him from duty in a final radio broadcast.

Brandon French, an inseparable friend to Ben since the two were teenagers, recounted a mountaineering expedition in Glacier National Park, where they summited Mount Jackson in the winter.

“Being on a 10,000-foot summit in the middle of winter is pretty amazing, but sharing it with your best friend is about as close to perfection as possible on this side of eternity,” French said. “Ben would have called that a two banana kind of day.”