ERIC’S LAST WISHES (Copied from the Des Moines Register - DesMoinesRegister.com)
Early one summer morning in 2006, Eric Jacobs awoke with a start.
In bed beside him lay his wife, Heather, three months pregnant and barely starting to show. It wasn’t yet 5 a.m., and Heather was fast asleep. So were their four boys, ages 1 through 6.
Eric was scared, confused. He’d just had a terrible dream: That he died too young. That he left behind a wife and five children, and so many unfinished things. And that he needed to do something about it before it was too late.
He got out of bed. He crept past the boys’ bedrooms, down both sets of stairs of their split-level home in Ankeny, and into the basement toy room. He was surrounded by Legos, board games, cars, trucks, a plastic kitchen. His blond hair, or what was left of it after 31 years, was askew.
Then Eric Jacobs — a father who devoted every Sunday to family day, an evangelist who’d handed over his soul to Jesus Christ, a man whose life was filled with joy and promise — turned on the lights, sat on the floor next to the furnace closet, looked into a camera mounted on a Dell laptop, and clicked record.
If there is a God — and Eric Jacobs believed with his whole heart that there is — then God wanted Eric to find a spunky, brown-eyed brunette named Heather Shull.
Heather remembers when they first laid eyes on each other. Her stepdad worked at the utility company in Waterloo; his boss was Mark Jacobs. As her family drove to company picnics, Heather would ask: “Will the Jacobs family be there?” Even at 6, she had a crush on the eldest Jacobs boy.
They weren’t in the same school district, so their paths didn’t cross again until high school. When they did, it was love at second sight.
In bed beside him lay his wife, Heather, three months pregnant and barely starting to show. It wasn’t yet 5 a.m., and Heather was fast asleep. So were their four boys, ages 1 through 6.
Eric was scared, confused. He’d just had a terrible dream: That he died too young. That he left behind a wife and five children, and so many unfinished things. And that he needed to do something about it before it was too late.
He got out of bed. He crept past the boys’ bedrooms, down both sets of stairs of their split-level home in Ankeny, and into the basement toy room. He was surrounded by Legos, board games, cars, trucks, a plastic kitchen. His blond hair, or what was left of it after 31 years, was askew.
Then Eric Jacobs — a father who devoted every Sunday to family day, an evangelist who’d handed over his soul to Jesus Christ, a man whose life was filled with joy and promise — turned on the lights, sat on the floor next to the furnace closet, looked into a camera mounted on a Dell laptop, and clicked record.
If there is a God — and Eric Jacobs believed with his whole heart that there is — then God wanted Eric to find a spunky, brown-eyed brunette named Heather Shull.
Heather remembers when they first laid eyes on each other. Her stepdad worked at the utility company in Waterloo; his boss was Mark Jacobs. As her family drove to company picnics, Heather would ask: “Will the Jacobs family be there?” Even at 6, she had a crush on the eldest Jacobs boy.
They weren’t in the same school district, so their paths didn’t cross again until high school. When they did, it was love at second sight.
Eric met Heather at a house party, drove her home, and there was no turning back.
They went to Iowa State University, took the same classes, studied together. Then one evening after Heather’s freshman year, Eric got them tickets for an ice-skating show at Hilton Coliseum. Afterward, heat lightning in the distance broke up the pitch-black night. He wanted to walk to the Campanile in the center of campus. Heather said no; a storm was coming. He insisted. They got to the bell tower, and Eric dropped to a knee. They married the next summer. Seven months after graduation, she was pregnant.
By fall 2006, everything had fallen into place: the life they’d always wanted. They had four boys — Brayden had just turned 7, Justin was 6, Keenan, 3, and Ethan, almost 2. Eric encouraged each of them to be as wild and carefree as a young boy should be. And Heather was pregnant again. They were hoping for a girl but would wait to find out, savoring one of life’s biggest surprises.
His career was on the rise, too. Eric had a good job as information technology leader at Two Rivers Marketing in Des Moines. When the weather was nice, he sometimes biked the 13 miles to work. For extra cash, he kept up the Web development business he’d started in college.
And Eric had become a more vocal Christian, joining the building and education committees at church, studying up on the history of the Mormon religion to better argue with a Mormon friend. The family went to St. Paul Lutheran Church in Ankeny every Sunday morning, then spent the rest of Sunday as family day. Eric would organize silly things for the kids. One day he helped the kids set up a hot chocolate stand in their yard. Another day he decided they were going to build marshmallow shooters. They bought PVC pipe, shaped the piping into guns, spraypainted each a different color and went to the backyard for a marshmallow war.
Eric and Heather were busy, but they didn’t neglect their own relationship. They talked for hours after putting the kids to bed. They kept Friday as date night, even if that just meant grilling steaks after the kids were asleep and having a late-night dinner by candlelight.
He had grown a goatee in the decade since their wedding and lost much of his hair. She had put on baby weight and chopped her long hair. It didn’t matter. They would grow old together.
Eric rose from bed before 4 a.m. to get dressed.
On that November day — a day Eric would have seen as part of God’s plan — he had a business meeting in Indiana. The company was pitching a Web application to drum up new business. But he didn’t want to go on the flight his company had chartered. It was a tiny, twin-engine light aircraft that seated only five passengers, and Eric didn’t think small planes were safe. An uncle had died in a small-plane accident a few years before. His colleagues teased him, but Eric booked his own seat on a commercial flight
As he was about to leave, he paused. The young father noticed a little blond head in the hall: Keenan, his 3-year-old. It was a fleeting moment of fatherhood, briefly warming a parent’s heart amid the rush of everyday life.
“Buddy, what are you doing up?” Eric asked. “Let’s get you back in bed with Mom.”
Heather stirred, still half-asleep but hearing her husband in the hall. Eric scooped up Keenan and tucked him into bed next to his mother. Eric gave her a kiss.
“Bye, honey,” he said. Then he got in his car and drove into the chilly fall air.
Authorities remove bags of debris from a cornfield near La Porte, Ind., on Nov. 14, 2006, the day after the plane crash in which Eric Jacobs, three colleagues and the pilot were killed. (Associated Press file photo)
Within two months, Heather knew they’d get married. She loved his silly charisma, how he was always the ringleader in a group. She loved the stories his family would tell, like the time he gathered his younger siblings, brought all the family’s mattresses to their driveway, and instructed everyone to jump from the garage roof onto the pile. Or when he turned a rainy day at his sister’s graduation party into a group dance to “Singin’ in the Rain,” complete with umbrellas.
They went to Iowa State University, took the same classes, studied together. Then one evening after Heather’s freshman year, Eric got them tickets for an ice-skating show at Hilton Coliseum. Afterward, heat lightning in the distance broke up the pitch-black night. He wanted to walk to the Campanile in the center of campus. Heather said no; a storm was coming. He insisted. They got to the bell tower, and Eric dropped to a knee. They married the next summer. Seven months after graduation, she was pregnant.
By fall 2006, everything had fallen into place: the life they’d always wanted. They had four boys — Brayden had just turned 7, Justin was 6, Keenan, 3, and Ethan, almost 2. Eric encouraged each of them to be as wild and carefree as a young boy should be. And Heather was pregnant again. They were hoping for a girl but would wait to find out, savoring one of life’s biggest surprises.
His career was on the rise, too. Eric had a good job as information technology leader at Two Rivers Marketing in Des Moines. When the weather was nice, he sometimes biked the 13 miles to work. For extra cash, he kept up the Web development business he’d started in college.
And Eric had become a more vocal Christian, joining the building and education committees at church, studying up on the history of the Mormon religion to better argue with a Mormon friend. The family went to St. Paul Lutheran Church in Ankeny every Sunday morning, then spent the rest of Sunday as family day. Eric would organize silly things for the kids. One day he helped the kids set up a hot chocolate stand in their yard. Another day he decided they were going to build marshmallow shooters. They bought PVC pipe, shaped the piping into guns, spraypainted each a different color and went to the backyard for a marshmallow war.
Eric and Heather were busy, but they didn’t neglect their own relationship. They talked for hours after putting the kids to bed. They kept Friday as date night, even if that just meant grilling steaks after the kids were asleep and having a late-night dinner by candlelight.
He had grown a goatee in the decade since their wedding and lost much of his hair. She had put on baby weight and chopped her long hair. It didn’t matter. They would grow old together.
On that November day — a day Eric would have seen as part of God’s plan — he had a business meeting in Indiana. The company was pitching a Web application to drum up new business. But he didn’t want to go on the flight his company had chartered. It was a tiny, twin-engine light aircraft that seated only five passengers, and Eric didn’t think small planes were safe. An uncle had died in a small-plane accident a few years before. His colleagues teased him, but Eric booked his own seat on a commercial flight
As he was about to leave, he paused. The young father noticed a little blond head in the hall: Keenan, his 3-year-old. It was a fleeting moment of fatherhood, briefly warming a parent’s heart amid the rush of everyday life.
“Buddy, what are you doing up?” Eric asked. “Let’s get you back in bed with Mom.”
Heather stirred, still half-asleep but hearing her husband in the hall. Eric scooped up Keenan and tucked him into bed next to his mother. Eric gave her a kiss.
“Bye, honey,” he said. Then he got in his car and drove into the chilly fall air.
Thirteen was this family’s lucky number. That’s what Eric always said. He was born on July13; three of their four children had been born on the 13th, too. Eric always tried to take No. 13 in sports leagues. His children would, too.
So when Heather Jacobs awoke on Nov. 13, 2006 — her husband gone on a business trip, Keenan tucked into bed beside her, the four kids her charge until Eric got back late that night — the odds were this would be a good day
She carted the two oldest boys to Ankeny Christian Academy, the youngest two to day care. She went to a Bible study session. She told friends there she was excited this was Eric’s last monthly business trip until after the baby was born. She hated when he was away, especially when she was so pregnant.
In midafternoon, Heather started feeling cramps. The cramps kept getting worse, a stabbing pain in her side. She remembered what Eric had said the day before, a Sunday: They needed an emergency plan for when he was gone. He talked to people at church who could help, scribbled down their phone numbers and tacked the note to the refrigerator.
She went to the kitchen and dialed the top number on the list, the church secretary. As she waited for her to answer, Heather smiled to herself: What a typical thing for Eric to do. Always prepared. Always thinking of her needs.
The church secretary came to watch the boys. A friend, Lori Christiansen, took Heather to Iowa Methodist Medical Center in Des Moines. Heather tried to call Eric, but his TracFone wasn’t on. She tried to get the airlines to contact him, but she couldn’t remember which airline he was on. She figured the cramps were nothing, maybe indigestion. Still: Better safe than sorry.
They waited in the hospital lobby as other patients were brought in. Finally, nurses sent Heather to the maternity ward for an ultrasound. The pains eased. Doctors found nothing wrong. They sent Heather home.
It was after 11 p.m., the boys long since in bed, when Lori dropped Heather off in her driveway. The church secretary ran outside: “Lori!” she said. “Wait for a second.”
Nothing seemed out of place at first. Heather went inside. One of Eric’s co-workers, a close friend, was in the living room with his wife. Heather’s eyes opened wide. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Inside the house, Keith Kmett, Eric’s co-worker, sat on the couch. Keith was supposed to have been on the business trip, but it had been postponed to a day when he was on vacation. So Eric had taken his place.
Now Keith brought terrible news: The charter flight had crashed.
Heather gasped. She thought of Josh Trainor, a co-worker on the flight. The 23-year-old was planning a wedding the next year with his longtime girlfriend. How would Josh’s fiancee take the news?
Heather looked at Keith. He had a pained look on his face.
“Eric wasn’t on it,” Heather told him confidently. “He had a commercial flight.”
Her stomach lurched at Keith’s next words: Eric’s flight home was canceled, he said. Hours before, Eric had called Keith to get the phone number for Tom Dunphy, a co-founder of Two Rivers, who was on the charter flight. Eric wanted to grab a spot and make it home that night.
Heather’s mind raced: Surely he would have called by now if his flight was canceled! Surely he wasn’t on that plane!
The clock passed midnight. Eric didn’t call. More friends arrived. They made phone calls to family, and to state troopers in Indiana. Initial reports said only four people were on board; Eric would have made five. Maybe Eric wasn’t on it! Maybe he’d rented a car and was driving through the night, maybe he’d walk through the front door any minute, maybe....
For hours she cried. Keith sat with her and thought of the kids, somehow still sleeping soundly. He remembered how, when he gave Eric rides home from work, Eric talked of little else than his children. The children still didn’t know.
The clock passed 3 a.m., 4 a.m. Still, no confirmation Eric was on the flight. All through the night, Heather could feel their baby kicking inside her. With each passing minute, it seemed more and more clear this baby wouldn’t have a father. By 6 a.m., Heather had to wake up the kids for school. She knew there was only the tiniest chance Eric hadn’t been on the flight.
“Honest to God,” Heather said later, her voice breaking, “it was probably the hardest thing. I had to act like everything was normal because nothing was confirmed. I just didn’t want to upset them, especially until we knew for sure. It’s news you don’t want to give until you’re sure.”
The kids got ready for school. Heather told them the people were at the house because of Mommy’s hospital visit the night before. Later that morning, Eric’s parents came to the door. They’d driven from Bettendorf. The coroner’s office in Indiana had called Eric’s parents at 4 a.m., confirming he was on the flight. His parents assumed the coroner’s office had called Heather, too.
So when Heather Jacobs awoke on Nov. 13, 2006 — her husband gone on a business trip, Keenan tucked into bed beside her, the four kids her charge until Eric got back late that night — the odds were this would be a good day
She carted the two oldest boys to Ankeny Christian Academy, the youngest two to day care. She went to a Bible study session. She told friends there she was excited this was Eric’s last monthly business trip until after the baby was born. She hated when he was away, especially when she was so pregnant.
In midafternoon, Heather started feeling cramps. The cramps kept getting worse, a stabbing pain in her side. She remembered what Eric had said the day before, a Sunday: They needed an emergency plan for when he was gone. He talked to people at church who could help, scribbled down their phone numbers and tacked the note to the refrigerator.
She went to the kitchen and dialed the top number on the list, the church secretary. As she waited for her to answer, Heather smiled to herself: What a typical thing for Eric to do. Always prepared. Always thinking of her needs.
The church secretary came to watch the boys. A friend, Lori Christiansen, took Heather to Iowa Methodist Medical Center in Des Moines. Heather tried to call Eric, but his TracFone wasn’t on. She tried to get the airlines to contact him, but she couldn’t remember which airline he was on. She figured the cramps were nothing, maybe indigestion. Still: Better safe than sorry.
They waited in the hospital lobby as other patients were brought in. Finally, nurses sent Heather to the maternity ward for an ultrasound. The pains eased. Doctors found nothing wrong. They sent Heather home.
It was after 11 p.m., the boys long since in bed, when Lori dropped Heather off in her driveway. The church secretary ran outside: “Lori!” she said. “Wait for a second.”
Nothing seemed out of place at first. Heather went inside. One of Eric’s co-workers, a close friend, was in the living room with his wife. Heather’s eyes opened wide. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Inside the house, Keith Kmett, Eric’s co-worker, sat on the couch. Keith was supposed to have been on the business trip, but it had been postponed to a day when he was on vacation. So Eric had taken his place.
Now Keith brought terrible news: The charter flight had crashed.
Heather gasped. She thought of Josh Trainor, a co-worker on the flight. The 23-year-old was planning a wedding the next year with his longtime girlfriend. How would Josh’s fiancee take the news?
Heather looked at Keith. He had a pained look on his face.
“Eric wasn’t on it,” Heather told him confidently. “He had a commercial flight.”
Her stomach lurched at Keith’s next words: Eric’s flight home was canceled, he said. Hours before, Eric had called Keith to get the phone number for Tom Dunphy, a co-founder of Two Rivers, who was on the charter flight. Eric wanted to grab a spot and make it home that night.
Heather’s mind raced: Surely he would have called by now if his flight was canceled! Surely he wasn’t on that plane!
The clock passed midnight. Eric didn’t call. More friends arrived. They made phone calls to family, and to state troopers in Indiana. Initial reports said only four people were on board; Eric would have made five. Maybe Eric wasn’t on it! Maybe he’d rented a car and was driving through the night, maybe he’d walk through the front door any minute, maybe....
For hours she cried. Keith sat with her and thought of the kids, somehow still sleeping soundly. He remembered how, when he gave Eric rides home from work, Eric talked of little else than his children. The children still didn’t know.
The clock passed 3 a.m., 4 a.m. Still, no confirmation Eric was on the flight. All through the night, Heather could feel their baby kicking inside her. With each passing minute, it seemed more and more clear this baby wouldn’t have a father. By 6 a.m., Heather had to wake up the kids for school. She knew there was only the tiniest chance Eric hadn’t been on the flight.
“Honest to God,” Heather said later, her voice breaking, “it was probably the hardest thing. I had to act like everything was normal because nothing was confirmed. I just didn’t want to upset them, especially until we knew for sure. It’s news you don’t want to give until you’re sure.”
The kids got ready for school. Heather told them the people were at the house because of Mommy’s hospital visit the night before. Later that morning, Eric’s parents came to the door. They’d driven from Bettendorf. The coroner’s office in Indiana had called Eric’s parents at 4 a.m., confirming he was on the flight. His parents assumed the coroner’s office had called Heather, too.
The crash was detailed in The Register on Nov. 15, 2006. An investigation concluded that the pilot became disoriented and couldn’t maintain control of the aircraft.
Only later, through conversations with Keith about Eric’s phone call and through an investigation by the National Transportation Safety Board, could Heather piece together what happened the night of Nov. 13:
Eric’s commercial flight back from Indiana was canceled because of fog in South Bend. He called Keith to get their boss’s number, to see whether he could hop on the charter. The small plane was about to depart from South Bend Regional Airport when those aboard received word that Eric’s flight had been canceled, so they picked him up. At takeoff, the tiny Cessna T303 was nearly 400 pounds overweight, and the pilot, John “Mitch” Trewet of Atlantic, apparently “looked tired or just ready to go home,” according to the investigation.
The plane began its climb to the west shortly before 8 p.m. Eight miles after taking off, the plane turned right, then left, and then, from 5,600 feet up, began a rapid, spiraling descent.
The federal investigation concluded the pilot had become “spatially disoriented and as a result failed to maintain control of the airplane.”
Eric’s commercial flight back from Indiana was canceled because of fog in South Bend. He called Keith to get their boss’s number, to see whether he could hop on the charter. The small plane was about to depart from South Bend Regional Airport when those aboard received word that Eric’s flight had been canceled, so they picked him up. At takeoff, the tiny Cessna T303 was nearly 400 pounds overweight, and the pilot, John “Mitch” Trewet of Atlantic, apparently “looked tired or just ready to go home,” according to the investigation.
The plane began its climb to the west shortly before 8 p.m. Eight miles after taking off, the plane turned right, then left, and then, from 5,600 feet up, began a rapid, spiraling descent.
The federal investigation concluded the pilot had become “spatially disoriented and as a result failed to maintain control of the airplane.”
Authorities remove bags of debris from a cornfield near La Porte, Ind., on Nov. 14, 2006, the day after the plane crash in which Eric Jacobs, three colleagues and the pilot were killed. (Associated Press file photo)As a new day dawned for Heather, she knew none of this. She knew only that in front of her lay the first of many heart-wrenching moments after her husband’s death.
Eric’s parents picked up the boys from school. Heather sat the boys in the living room, surrounded by their pastor, who’d come over in the middle of the night, and their grandparents.
You remember that Daddy was on a business trip yesterday?
“Daddy’s actually not coming back home,” Heather told her children. “Daddy went home to be with God.”
Eric’s parents picked up the boys from school. Heather sat the boys in the living room, surrounded by their pastor, who’d come over in the middle of the night, and their grandparents.
You remember that Daddy was on a business trip yesterday?
“Daddy’s actually not coming back home,” Heather told her children. “Daddy went home to be with God.”
The boys looked at one another. They thought it was a joke. They ran out of the room to play. Heather didn’t know how to explain to her four boys that they’d never see Daddy again.
It was two days after Eric had died. Heather’s life had turned into a haze. Eric’s mother, Pat Jacobs, put on a strong face, became the family’s rock. She got the details taken care of even as she mourned her son. For Heather, this all seemed surreal. Scheduling a funeral? Picking a casket? Worrying about the type of lining, the type of vault? She wanted to throw up, but she forced herself to eat — the baby was still kicking inside her. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so a doctor prescribed sleeping pills.
That afternoon, Heather got a phone call from her financial adviser. He needed a copy of the will because he was attending to Eric’s life insurance settlement.
The family sat at the kitchen table, switching from tears to laughs as they told stories. Heather walked downstairs to the basement, near the toy room. Next to the stairs was the family’s locked fire safe. Heather punched in the code.
On top of the will, she saw something. It was a CD jewel case. Inside was a disc. Eric’s handwriting was scrawled on it.
Heather’s heart jumped when she read the inscription: “ERIC’S LAST WORDS.”
It was two days after Eric had died. Heather’s life had turned into a haze. Eric’s mother, Pat Jacobs, put on a strong face, became the family’s rock. She got the details taken care of even as she mourned her son. For Heather, this all seemed surreal. Scheduling a funeral? Picking a casket? Worrying about the type of lining, the type of vault? She wanted to throw up, but she forced herself to eat — the baby was still kicking inside her. She hadn’t been able to sleep, so a doctor prescribed sleeping pills.
That afternoon, Heather got a phone call from her financial adviser. He needed a copy of the will because he was attending to Eric’s life insurance settlement.
The family sat at the kitchen table, switching from tears to laughs as they told stories. Heather walked downstairs to the basement, near the toy room. Next to the stairs was the family’s locked fire safe. Heather punched in the code.
On top of the will, she saw something. It was a CD jewel case. Inside was a disc. Eric’s handwriting was scrawled on it.
Heather’s heart jumped when she read the inscription: “ERIC’S LAST WORDS.”
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