‘PRAY AND PRAY OFTEN’ (Copied from the Des Moines Register - DesMoinesRegister.com)
Heather Jacobs sat on the basement floor in front of the family’s fire safe, dumbfounded at what she held in her hands: a CD, with an inscription in familiar handwriting. “ERIC’S LAST WORDS,” it read.
Suddenly, the memory rushed back. Early on a summer morning in 2006, she had felt her husband, Eric, climb into bed. She remembered him holding her so tight it hurt, like he never wanted to let go.
Eric told her he’d dreamed that he died. The dream seemed so real, as if the Holy Spirit were telling him something. He’d gone downstairs and made a video. “Are you serious?” she asked him groggily. “Never mind,” he said, and Heather fell back to sleep in his arms.
Four months after that dream, on a chilly evening in November, Eric had been a passenger on a small plane that tumbled out of the sky and into an Indiana cornfield.
That was two days ago. Yesterday, she’d told their four boys, ages 1 through 7, that their father had died. Heather was seven months pregnant. She felt dazed, sick to her stomach, unable to sleep. And now this.
Disc in hand, she walked up from the basement of their Ankeny home. Eric’s two younger brothers had just arrived after a nonstop drive from their home in Arizona. The family sat at the kitchen table.
“You are not going to believe this,” she said.
Heather didn’t know what to expect. She just knew she didn’t want to watch the video alone. The family lined up at the kitchen table: Eric’s brothers, Heather’s half sisters, three sets of grandparents and step-grandparents. The older two Jacobs boys, Brayden, 7, and Justin, 6, sat next to their mom.
Heather opened a laptop computer, put in the disc and pressed play.
Eric Jacobs takes a deep breath. He centers the camera on his face. “Hello, everybody,” he says calmly. “If you’re watching this, something bad’s probably happened to me. I had this dream last night, or, this morning, only a few minutes ago, that I died early. And I don’t know what to take of it.”
The family watched in silence, one floor above where Eric had made this video months before. It felt like Eric was in the room with them; it felt like he was beamed in from heaven.
“I don’t know if this is God’s way of saying, 'Record this,’ and it was divinely inspired, or if I’m just paranoid,” Eric says. “So I wanted to record my thoughts while I had them. And then if it was divinely inspired, then this is God’s way of showing that he truly does work through people’s lives. And I want you to show this to people to witness to them. Because my life was cut short.”
These, Eric says, are his last instructions.
He begins with his brothers, asking them to move back to Iowa, to help Heather raise the boys as Eric would have.
He tells his sister to read the Bible six times: “Even though I’m out of this world, you can still be in it to help win souls for the Lord.” He speaks to his parents: Move closer, Eric says. Heather will need help.
Then his words turn to his wife. Eric’s voice starts to break.
“OK, Heather, this is tough,” he says. “But I need to tell you that I don’t expect you and I don’t want you to be single. Raising these boys is way too tough. Your job — if you choose to accept it — no, you don’t get to choose, you have to accept this: I need you, I want you to remarry.” He’s crying. “I’m not crying out of jealousy. I’m crying because I’m thinking of being gone from you.”
A dozen times, he says this: That Heather must remarry. That she must find a good Christian man to be a spiritual leader for their boys. That if he’s not a Christian, she should keep looking. At one point, he brings his nose to the camera for emphasis. At another point, he closes his eyes to pray for her future husband.
In the kitchen, Eric’s two oldest boys listened quietly. It was spooky, their father talking as if he were already dead.
“God, I can’t even do this,” Eric says. “I wake up at 5 in the morning thinking I had this silly dream, and that I thought maybe this is God’s way of telling me to do something about it. So I record this video, thinking it’s stupid, a dumb idea, but I’m going to do it anyways. Because the Lord was telling me to do it.”
Eric’s voice drips with emotion. Soon his Iowa State T-shirt is wet with tears and mucus: “I thought it was a booger, but it’s snot,” Eric says. He laughs at his crude humor, then scolds himself that this will be the joke he’s remembered for.
Suddenly, the memory rushed back. Early on a summer morning in 2006, she had felt her husband, Eric, climb into bed. She remembered him holding her so tight it hurt, like he never wanted to let go.
Eric told her he’d dreamed that he died. The dream seemed so real, as if the Holy Spirit were telling him something. He’d gone downstairs and made a video. “Are you serious?” she asked him groggily. “Never mind,” he said, and Heather fell back to sleep in his arms.
That was two days ago. Yesterday, she’d told their four boys, ages 1 through 7, that their father had died. Heather was seven months pregnant. She felt dazed, sick to her stomach, unable to sleep. And now this.
Disc in hand, she walked up from the basement of their Ankeny home. Eric’s two younger brothers had just arrived after a nonstop drive from their home in Arizona. The family sat at the kitchen table.
“You are not going to believe this,” she said.
Heather didn’t know what to expect. She just knew she didn’t want to watch the video alone. The family lined up at the kitchen table: Eric’s brothers, Heather’s half sisters, three sets of grandparents and step-grandparents. The older two Jacobs boys, Brayden, 7, and Justin, 6, sat next to their mom.
Heather opened a laptop computer, put in the disc and pressed play.
Eric Jacobs takes a deep breath. He centers the camera on his face. “Hello, everybody,” he says calmly. “If you’re watching this, something bad’s probably happened to me. I had this dream last night, or, this morning, only a few minutes ago, that I died early. And I don’t know what to take of it.”
The family watched in silence, one floor above where Eric had made this video months before. It felt like Eric was in the room with them; it felt like he was beamed in from heaven.
“I don’t know if this is God’s way of saying, 'Record this,’ and it was divinely inspired, or if I’m just paranoid,” Eric says. “So I wanted to record my thoughts while I had them. And then if it was divinely inspired, then this is God’s way of showing that he truly does work through people’s lives. And I want you to show this to people to witness to them. Because my life was cut short.”
These, Eric says, are his last instructions.
He begins with his brothers, asking them to move back to Iowa, to help Heather raise the boys as Eric would have.
He tells his sister to read the Bible six times: “Even though I’m out of this world, you can still be in it to help win souls for the Lord.” He speaks to his parents: Move closer, Eric says. Heather will need help.
Then his words turn to his wife. Eric’s voice starts to break.
“OK, Heather, this is tough,” he says. “But I need to tell you that I don’t expect you and I don’t want you to be single. Raising these boys is way too tough. Your job — if you choose to accept it — no, you don’t get to choose, you have to accept this: I need you, I want you to remarry.” He’s crying. “I’m not crying out of jealousy. I’m crying because I’m thinking of being gone from you.”
A dozen times, he says this: That Heather must remarry. That she must find a good Christian man to be a spiritual leader for their boys. That if he’s not a Christian, she should keep looking. At one point, he brings his nose to the camera for emphasis. At another point, he closes his eyes to pray for her future husband.
In the kitchen, Eric’s two oldest boys listened quietly. It was spooky, their father talking as if he were already dead.
“God, I can’t even do this,” Eric says. “I wake up at 5 in the morning thinking I had this silly dream, and that I thought maybe this is God’s way of telling me to do something about it. So I record this video, thinking it’s stupid, a dumb idea, but I’m going to do it anyways. Because the Lord was telling me to do it.”
Eric’s voice drips with emotion. Soon his Iowa State T-shirt is wet with tears and mucus: “I thought it was a booger, but it’s snot,” Eric says. He laughs at his crude humor, then scolds himself that this will be the joke he’s remembered for.
He turns to his boys. He tells the older two to be leaders in the family. He tells the younger two to be there for their mom. “You need to carry on what I was going to do,” he tells his boys. “You need to win as many souls to the Lord before the Lord comes.”
He wants his boys to cry, because crying is good. He wants them to laugh, because laughter is one of God’s gifts. But he doesn’t want them to be angry with God. Going to heaven, he says, is nothing to be angry about.
“This is all part of God’s plan, and I want you all to remember this, all of you guys, especially the boys,” Eric says. “God’s purpose was for me to deliver this message to you....
“I need you to pray, and pray often,” he instructs. “Don’t pray for me. I’m in a good place. I need you to pray for the people who don’t know about it. I need you to pray that they may come to know the Lord.”
Then Eric turns to three colleagues at Two Rivers Marketing in Des Moines. He had been trying to convert them to Christianity.
One is an atheist: “If this is all this life is, it’s worthless. But there’s a lot more to life, and I need you to find it.” Another is a Mormon; Eric tells him he is in a false religion. Another is agnostic: “If you die without knowing Jesus Christ, you will end up in hell.”
He’s been talking more than 20 minutes. “Whew, pull it together, pull it together,” he coaches himself. He talks about heaven as a giant party, and says he’ll be waiting for each of his sons with a cold beer in hand. “I hope there’s beer in heaven,” he interjects. “If not, it might be hell.”
He instructs everyone to watch this video again and again.
“This is proof alone,” he says. “There is a purpose for you all, God’s purpose. Whatever that is.”
Eric closes his eyes. He says the Lord’s Prayer. He opens his eyes. “All right, I’m signing off,” he says.
The video had been playing for nearly 40 minutes. Everyone in the kitchen had long since given in to tears. They’d stayed mostly silent, but when Eric said the Lord’s Prayer, they joined in.
Eric wipes his nose with his T-shirt a final time. He stares into the camera. “I love you,” he says. “I want to end by saying: 'I love you.’”
He reaches toward the laptop, a sad grin on his face. “Goodbye,” he whispers, his head tilted to the left. The screen freezes on Eric’s soft smile.
If you were Heather Jacobs, what would you do?
He’s been talking more than 20 minutes. “Whew, pull it together, pull it together,” he coaches himself. He talks about heaven as a giant party, and says he’ll be waiting for each of his sons with a cold beer in hand. “I hope there’s beer in heaven,” he interjects. “If not, it might be hell.”
He instructs everyone to watch this video again and again.
“This is proof alone,” he says. “There is a purpose for you all, God’s purpose. Whatever that is.”
Eric closes his eyes. He says the Lord’s Prayer. He opens his eyes. “All right, I’m signing off,” he says.
The video had been playing for nearly 40 minutes. Everyone in the kitchen had long since given in to tears. They’d stayed mostly silent, but when Eric said the Lord’s Prayer, they joined in.
Eric wipes his nose with his T-shirt a final time. He stares into the camera. “I love you,” he says. “I want to end by saying: 'I love you.’”
He reaches toward the laptop, a sad grin on his face. “Goodbye,” he whispers, his head tilted to the left. The screen freezes on Eric’s soft smile.
If you were Heather Jacobs, what would you do?
Your life is upended in a flash. Your husband of 10 years dies in a plane crash. Your four young children look to you for everything. Your belly is huge with your fifth child. You’re trying to keep family life as normal as possible, though you know it’s anything but. Then you find a disc with your husband’s last wishes, as if it were handed down by God.
Here’s what Heather Jacobs did:
• She thought back over the past couple of years, how Eric seemed to be preparing to leave this world. She remembered how he insisted on spending money the family didn’t have on two recent vacations — taking Heather to Mexico, taking the family to Disney World. And then how, on her 30th birthday, the last they would spend together, he peppered the town with presents and sent his wife on a daylong scavenger hunt.
It was as if he wanted to leave behind some final good memories.
• She thought of his recent obsession with reading the Bible. She remembered Eric’s long talk with two Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to their door one afternoon. Eric spoke to them about his Christianity for nearly two hours, and explained why he thought their religion was wrong.
• She remembered how, over the past few months, Eric kept talking about heaven. Out of the blue, he’d ask his boys: “Can you imagine how awesome heaven will be?” Full of roller coasters, one would say. Lots of cotton candy, another would say. Softball games all the time, Eric would add. It was as if he wanted his kids to know Daddy was going to a better place.
• She thought about the unexplained stomach pains she’d felt the day of Eric’s death. Maybe that was God’s way of making sure she wasn’t home, alone with the kids, when the phone call came about the plane crash.
In the weeks and months that followed, Heather trudged through the rites of passage that follow a death. She took the boys to Eric’s office, and they cleaned out his desk together. She tried to stay strong during the visitation and funeral. Thanksgiving passed, and Christmas, too. Eric’s brother Ryan moved into the house to help with the boys.
Heather realized she had to move forward into an uncertain future. But thoughts kept popping into her head: Did Eric know? On some subconscious level, some spiritual level, did Eric know that death was coming, that he needed to get his affairs in order? Was this video a blessing from God, a way Eric’s loved ones could remember him, a final piece of evangelism before leaving this earth?
Or was this all a coincidence?
No, Heather decided. This was no coincidence.
Heather woke up early on Jan. 13, 2007, two months after her husband died. The night before, she’d cried herself to sleep, and her half sister, Jessica, had climbed into bed and slept alongside her. She knew she was supposed to be excited about this day: When Eric was alive, giving birth was a spiritual time for them, the happiest times of their marriage. After each birth, she cherished the time in the hospital when it was quiet, just Heather and her husband and their sleeping infant. But now all she could think was that this baby would never meet its dad.
• She thought of his recent obsession with reading the Bible. She remembered Eric’s long talk with two Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to their door one afternoon. Eric spoke to them about his Christianity for nearly two hours, and explained why he thought their religion was wrong.
• She remembered how, over the past few months, Eric kept talking about heaven. Out of the blue, he’d ask his boys: “Can you imagine how awesome heaven will be?” Full of roller coasters, one would say. Lots of cotton candy, another would say. Softball games all the time, Eric would add. It was as if he wanted his kids to know Daddy was going to a better place.
• She thought about the unexplained stomach pains she’d felt the day of Eric’s death. Maybe that was God’s way of making sure she wasn’t home, alone with the kids, when the phone call came about the plane crash.
In the weeks and months that followed, Heather trudged through the rites of passage that follow a death. She took the boys to Eric’s office, and they cleaned out his desk together. She tried to stay strong during the visitation and funeral. Thanksgiving passed, and Christmas, too. Eric’s brother Ryan moved into the house to help with the boys.
Heather realized she had to move forward into an uncertain future. But thoughts kept popping into her head: Did Eric know? On some subconscious level, some spiritual level, did Eric know that death was coming, that he needed to get his affairs in order? Was this video a blessing from God, a way Eric’s loved ones could remember him, a final piece of evangelism before leaving this earth?
Or was this all a coincidence?
No, Heather decided. This was no coincidence.
Heather woke up early on Jan. 13, 2007, two months after her husband died. The night before, she’d cried herself to sleep, and her half sister, Jessica, had climbed into bed and slept alongside her. She knew she was supposed to be excited about this day: When Eric was alive, giving birth was a spiritual time for them, the happiest times of their marriage. After each birth, she cherished the time in the hospital when it was quiet, just Heather and her husband and their sleeping infant. But now all she could think was that this baby would never meet its dad.
A small army of family and friends piled into an SUV and drove to Iowa Methodist Medical Center, the same place she’d come with stomach pains two months before. Heather wore her wedding band on her left hand and Eric’s on her right hand. It wasn’t yet 6 a.m.
She lay in the delivery room, waiting for doctors to induce labor. Doctors don’t usually schedule births for weekends, but this was different.
She lay in the delivery room, waiting for doctors to induce labor. Doctors don’t usually schedule births for weekends, but this was different.
Heather wanted the baby to be born on the 13th. It was still the family’s lucky number: the date Eric was born, the date Eric died. In the delivery room, Heather’s half sister, her mother and Eric’s mother surrounded her.
In the hallway, a 7-year-old boy waited, equal parts intrigued and terrified.
Weeks after his father’s death, Brayden had turned to his mother. He was the man of the house now. He had to do something.
“Mom,” her oldest child said. “I wanna be with you when you have the baby.” Heather laughed: A 7-year-old in the delivery room? Brayden would be traumatized, she thought. No, she told her son, firmly.
But as the due date got closer, Brayden kept asking. Finally, Heather asked: Why?
“Because Daddy can’t be with you, so I need to be,” the first-grader said.
Just like his dad, Heather thought. Always thinking of her needs.
So Heather explained how labor works. She told him she’d have contractions, she would dilate, she would push, and he would stand by Mommy’s shoulders, holding her hand like Daddy used to. And one more thing: Brayden absolutely, positively, could not look down until the baby was born.
Doctors induced labor. Heather tried to speed the process. She walked the halls of the hospital, holding Brayden’s hand, talking with him about the baby. It was as if a piece of Eric were beside her. When she reached 10 centimeters, it was time. She squeezed Brayden’s hand. A monitor measuring the baby’s heartbeat beeped. She squeezed so hard, Brayden thought his fingers might break. The boy stayed quiet.
The baby’s head was crowning. Suddenly, Brayden’s face turned a sickly white.
“Brayden, did you peek?” Heather heard her half sister ask.
“No,” Brayden replied. He paused. “Maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly.
Doctors pulled the baby out, and Brayden moved closer so he could see. Nurses wrapped the baby in a towel. Eric had wanted a girl so badly, but he had assumed this would be a boy. For them, it always seemed to be a boy.
The doctor announced it: a girl! Heather began to cry. Fathers always say they want a son, she thought, then they melt when they have a girl. Now that Eric was gone, Heather had just wanted another boy. A girl was something new. It was a journey she’d have to take without Eric.
Heather named her Ella. She would become Brayden’s little princess, and he’d tell anyone who’d listen that he was the first to see Ella’s face. And that face was the spitting image of Eric, so much so that when nurses handed Heather the wailing baby moments after she was born, it took Heather’s breath away.
Heather got home from the hospital, exhausted. She went to her bedroom, cradling her infant girl in her arms. For the first time since the birth, it was just Heather and her baby.
It was time for a late-night feeding. Ella was being fussy. She fed for half an hour but was still hungry. She wasn’t latching on correctly and wasn’t getting enough milk. Heather had this problem with past newborns. She knew what this meant: She would have to breast pump, have to clean all the equipment, have to go through a long and painful process to get this baby to breast-feed. Only this time, Eric wouldn’t be here to ease the burden.
The baby wouldn’t stop crying. Heather sat up in bed. She had put on a stoic face at the end of the pregnancy, tried to eat and sleep and hold it together. She’d kept strong for the baby.
Now, sitting in the darkened bedroom with her daughter in her arms, Heather began to sob uncontrollably. She sensed none of the joy she’d felt after past births. She was a 31-year-old widow, and she had five young children to raise.
She laid Ella in her crib. The baby kept crying.
In the hallway, a 7-year-old boy waited, equal parts intrigued and terrified.
Weeks after his father’s death, Brayden had turned to his mother. He was the man of the house now. He had to do something.
“Mom,” her oldest child said. “I wanna be with you when you have the baby.” Heather laughed: A 7-year-old in the delivery room? Brayden would be traumatized, she thought. No, she told her son, firmly.
But as the due date got closer, Brayden kept asking. Finally, Heather asked: Why?
“Because Daddy can’t be with you, so I need to be,” the first-grader said.
Just like his dad, Heather thought. Always thinking of her needs.
So Heather explained how labor works. She told him she’d have contractions, she would dilate, she would push, and he would stand by Mommy’s shoulders, holding her hand like Daddy used to. And one more thing: Brayden absolutely, positively, could not look down until the baby was born.
Doctors induced labor. Heather tried to speed the process. She walked the halls of the hospital, holding Brayden’s hand, talking with him about the baby. It was as if a piece of Eric were beside her. When she reached 10 centimeters, it was time. She squeezed Brayden’s hand. A monitor measuring the baby’s heartbeat beeped. She squeezed so hard, Brayden thought his fingers might break. The boy stayed quiet.
The baby’s head was crowning. Suddenly, Brayden’s face turned a sickly white.
“Brayden, did you peek?” Heather heard her half sister ask.
“No,” Brayden replied. He paused. “Maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly.
Doctors pulled the baby out, and Brayden moved closer so he could see. Nurses wrapped the baby in a towel. Eric had wanted a girl so badly, but he had assumed this would be a boy. For them, it always seemed to be a boy.
The doctor announced it: a girl! Heather began to cry. Fathers always say they want a son, she thought, then they melt when they have a girl. Now that Eric was gone, Heather had just wanted another boy. A girl was something new. It was a journey she’d have to take without Eric.
Heather named her Ella. She would become Brayden’s little princess, and he’d tell anyone who’d listen that he was the first to see Ella’s face. And that face was the spitting image of Eric, so much so that when nurses handed Heather the wailing baby moments after she was born, it took Heather’s breath away.
Heather got home from the hospital, exhausted. She went to her bedroom, cradling her infant girl in her arms. For the first time since the birth, it was just Heather and her baby.
It was time for a late-night feeding. Ella was being fussy. She fed for half an hour but was still hungry. She wasn’t latching on correctly and wasn’t getting enough milk. Heather had this problem with past newborns. She knew what this meant: She would have to breast pump, have to clean all the equipment, have to go through a long and painful process to get this baby to breast-feed. Only this time, Eric wouldn’t be here to ease the burden.
The baby wouldn’t stop crying. Heather sat up in bed. She had put on a stoic face at the end of the pregnancy, tried to eat and sleep and hold it together. She’d kept strong for the baby.
Now, sitting in the darkened bedroom with her daughter in her arms, Heather began to sob uncontrollably. She sensed none of the joy she’d felt after past births. She was a 31-year-old widow, and she had five young children to raise.
She laid Ella in her crib. The baby kept crying.
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