Deputy Olson ‘lived boldly, loved fiercely’

To her parents, friends and coworkers, Jillian Hope Olson was a bona fide hero. To her young nephew, Lochlann, she was a larger-than-life superhero, capable of righting wrongs and fighting injustice like any mythical caped crusader.

Olson’s three siblings shared treasured memories and family stories at the deputy’s funeral held Wednesday, Aug. 5, at Pilgrim Lutheran Church in Lexington. After relaying his own reflections, brother Corey Olson read eulogies prepared by his sisters, Julia Weigmann and Courtney Olson, who stood beside him at the lectern.

Lochlann “truly believed she could send tornadoes away and save people from volcanoes,” Weigmann wrote, explaining the boy’s bond with his beloved “Auntie Bebe.” “He once called her, asking her to arrest a kid on the playground who wasn't nice. She was his godmother and personal superhero.”

A 29-year-old master deputy in the Lexington County Sheriff’s Department’s warrant division, Olson drowned Thursday, July 30, during an LCSD dive team training exercise on Lake Murray.  Her line-of-duty death drew an outpouring of grief and support from law enforcement agencies throughout South Carolina, many of which were represented at her celebration of life service.

‘She found her home’

Corey Olson described his sister as “bold, unafraid, vivacious, funny, vibrant, passionate, caring, sassy, loyal, loving, a goofball, a whirlwind and an aspiring cook.”

“I will always remember the time we spent playing in the yard, living, learning, growing together as siblings ­— you were always the one willing to crack a joke or find a way to make even the hardest moments a little light,” he said. “Right now, we're all missing that more than words can say.”

The Olson family grew up in Illinois. After earning bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Western Illinois University, Jillian Olson moved to South Carolina to become a Lexington County sheriff’s deputy in June 2021.

“When Jillian moved to South Carolina, she found her home,” her brother said.

“South Carolina gave her purpose, surrounded her with love and made her happier than I had ever seen her,” Corey Olson continued. “Although she never got to meet Amelia, my daughter, in person, Jane and I will make sure that she grows up knowing her. She will know who her amazing Auntie Jillian was through our stories, our memories and the love she gave us. And one day, when she meets her again, she'll be able to tell her all about the life she lived, knowing Jillian was watching over her every step of the day. Jillian, thank you for being my sister, my friend and one of the strongest people I've ever known.”

Courtney Olson described Jillian as “the best friend and sister I could ever ask for.”

“Her loyalty, bravery, honesty, compassion and loving her cannot be replicated or replaced,” she said in a statement read by her brother, Corey. “Jillian always put all of herself into the things that she loved — her family, her dogs, her relationships, her community, her job, her spur-of-the-moment hobbies and everything she encountered. She showed up for everyone without a second thought.”

‘She built the life she wanted’

With a glance at Pilgrim Lutheran’s packed pews, Jim Olson said his daughter would be “terribly uncomfortable about all this attention.”

“Because as bold and fearless as she was, she was also bashful,” he said. “She didn't like being the center of attention. She was much happier making everyone else laugh and felt seen than hearing people talk about her.”

With wife Molly Olson standing by his side, Jim Olson recounted his daughter’s determined spirit.

“From the time she was little, she knew exactly who she was. She wasn't someone who drifted through her life, wondering what would come next,” he said. “She had dreams, and she went after them.”

Jillian aspired to move to the South and work in law enforcement, her father said, and she found happiness in fulfilling both pursuits.

“She found her home with the Lexington County Sheriff’s Department,” he said. “The people there became more than coworkers; they became family. They supported her, challenged her, laughed with her and stood beside her as she navigated her life as a young female deputy.”

Pausing for a laugh after referring to Jillian Olson and her fellow deputies as “partners in crime,” Jim Olson said his daughter took immense pride in her career.

“She was proud to wear the badge, and she was proud of the people who wore it beside her,” he said.

Jillian never backed down from a challenge — whether it came in the form of learning skills to advance her law enforcement career or tackling home improvement projects.

“She taught herself everything from painting, installing ceiling fans, tackling electric work and using power tools,” her father said. “She watched videos, asked questions, made mistakes and figured it out. She believed independence wasn't something you were born with; it was something you built.”

Jim Olson said his daughter’s true legacy is her character.

“What we'll remember most isn't just what Jillian accomplished. We will remember how she made people feel,” he said. “She made people feel protected. She made people laugh. She made people feel important. She made people feel loved. Jillian lived boldly. She loved fiercely. She knew herself. She built the life she wanted, and though life was far too short, it was incredibly fun.”

‘It stings when it’s one of your own’

Lexington County Sheriff Jay Koon said Olson’s loss profoundly affected her fellow deputies and law enforcement officers throughout the region, state and nation.

“In our profession, we deal with death quite frequently,” he said. “We're trained to help people struggle through grief, but it stings when it's one of your own. If you knew Jillian, then you knew she was full of life. She loved her family. She loved being outdoors, animals — and she loved the profession.”

Koon said Olson served as a role model for other officers, particularly her sisters in service.

“I have a soft spot for women in law enforcement,” he said. “I believe that they are essential to our profession, and every generation is enhancing their value. I'm a big ‘girl power’ type of guy. I'm very proud of the progress we've made in hiring and promoting strong, qualified women in our industry. Jillian, along with several others, championed that cause.”

The sheriff said Olson’s emergency radio call sign, 122, would be retired in her honor “to remember her legacy and sacrifice to our community.”

“In closing, I thought about what Jillian would say today,” Koon said. “I believe she would say, ‘Be happy and enjoy life. Always strive to be the best you can be to better yourself and your community. Love your family and friends, because you don't know when you'll be called home.’”

‘Do not let it embitter you’

Pastor Frank Anderson knew Olson all her life. As the family’s pastor in Illinois, he held her in the hospital and performed her baptism. They rekindled their close ties when he moved to South Carolina to become pastor of St. Michael Lutheran Church.

“Jillian's life vocation, her greatest wish, was to be the helper, to be the one that brought comfort, to be the one that brought safety and to be the one that brought a sense of humor,” Anderson said. “She was the one who found a way to live her faith and her vocation in the same moment.”

Anderson challenged the fallen deputy’s family, friends and fellow law enforcement officers to honor Olson’s legacy by remembering her in life, not just in death.

“Do not let it embitter you,” he said. “Do not let the sorrow that you feel overwhelm you. Take comfort in the fact that she lived an amazing life and she is now in that reward that we all within the church preach about and teach about, and pray about. We know it's real. We cannot let this event and the darkness of it surround us, engulf us — dare I say, drown us? That is not what Jillian Olson would want.”

After Olson’s death, her patrol vehicle parked outside the Lexington County Law Enforcement Complex was adorned with bouquets of flowers, stuffed animals and memorial gifts. Of the many notes affixed to the SUV, one stood out in Anderson’s mind. It was written by an employee at Moe’s Southwest Grill who wrapped a burrito for the deputy.

If Olson had a “brag wall,” Anderson said, that note ­— reading in part “Miss Olson, I am going to miss you. You were always kind in every way” — would be tacked up in a place of pride above the many awards, certificates and professional accolades she received.

“Everyone she encountered, from the lowest burrito maker to the highest officeholder in the land, got the very same Jillian Hope Olson,” he said. “Kind, warm, ready to embrace life and to be embraced.”