‘I CANNOT IMAGINE A DAY OF MY LIFE WITHOUT YOU’ (Copied from the Des Moines Register - DesMoinesRegister.com)
Late on the Friday before this past Memorial Day, Heather Jacobs sat in her kitchen and logged on to Facebook.
It had been more than three years since her husband, Eric Jacobs, died in a plane crash when she was seven months pregnant. Now, the children were growing up: Brayden, the oldest, would be in fifth grade soon. Ella, the youngest, had turned into a sassy 3-year-old, a girly girl with a tomboy streak.
But Heather was alone.
She’d had plenty of help. Eric’s brother Ryan had moved in soon after the crash and helped raise the kids, just as Eric had instructed. But Ryan had to live his own life. Grandparents visited, relieving Heather so she could have a day — or a week — free from parenting. Friends would take the children to the park, help with housework. Money wasn’t a problem. She worked part time at the Iowa Department of Natural Resources, and workers’ compensation and life insurance put the family in a comfortable financial spot.
On this evening, Heather sat in front of a glowing laptop at her Polk City home. The family had moved there from Ankeny in 2008, to a big house she had built with plenty of play space for her five kids. But now, Heather was feeling down. No sane man would date a 34-year-old widow with five kids, Heather figured. And when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t like what she saw — five pregnancies take their toll.
On Facebook, a chat icon popped up: an old high school friend who’d moved out of state. She asked how Heather was coping.
It had been more than three years since her husband, Eric Jacobs, died in a plane crash when she was seven months pregnant. Now, the children were growing up: Brayden, the oldest, would be in fifth grade soon. Ella, the youngest, had turned into a sassy 3-year-old, a girly girl with a tomboy streak.
But Heather was alone.
She’d had plenty of help. Eric’s brother Ryan had moved in soon after the crash and helped raise the kids, just as Eric had instructed. But Ryan had to live his own life. Grandparents visited, relieving Heather so she could have a day — or a week — free from parenting. Friends would take the children to the park, help with housework. Money wasn’t a problem. She worked part time at the Iowa Department of Natural Resources, and workers’ compensation and life insurance put the family in a comfortable financial spot.
On this evening, Heather sat in front of a glowing laptop at her Polk City home. The family had moved there from Ankeny in 2008, to a big house she had built with plenty of play space for her five kids. But now, Heather was feeling down. No sane man would date a 34-year-old widow with five kids, Heather figured. And when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t like what she saw — five pregnancies take their toll.
On Facebook, a chat icon popped up: an old high school friend who’d moved out of state. She asked how Heather was coping.
Heather has taught her children — seen in photographs displayed behind her — that although their father, Eric, is gone, he still loves them from heaven. (Christopher Gannon/The Register)
And Heather laid it out there: She felt so lonely. She missed the constant appreciation of a partner. She missed love notes and poems Eric wrote her. She missed when Eric would compliment her for a great meal, tell her she was beautiful. She even missed when Eric would rig up five televisions to watch all the NFL games at the same time.
“You need to start dating,” the friend wrote Heather.
Heather laughed. She can’t date! Where would she find somebody? At the kids’ school? Church? Kids’ sporting events? Plus, guys never check me out, Heather wrote.
“You need to start dating,” the friend wrote Heather.
Heather laughed. She can’t date! Where would she find somebody? At the kids’ school? Church? Kids’ sporting events? Plus, guys never check me out, Heather wrote.
Then the friend wrote something that stuck: “How do you know? Do you ever look around to see if anyone is looking at you?”
They logged off. Heather stayed in the kitchen. She knew her friend was right. For more than three years, Heather had been consumed with either grief or the kids. She hadn’t even thought about dating.
Meanwhile, at their home nearly 1,000 miles away, Heather’s friend turned to her husband, and they prayed: That God would open Heather’s heart. That someone would enter her life.
More than 1,000 days had passed since Eric’s death. Heather learned something: You don’t get over these things; you just get a little more used to them each day.
“She was just a wreck in the beginning,” said Brett Jacobs, Eric’s youngest brother. “Like she was a shell of a person.... Just a distant stare in her face at times.”
She went to therapy, and took the kids, too. But everywhere she looked, Eric surrounded her.
There was Eric’s old canoe she kept under the deck. There were Eric’s clothes, still hanging in the closet, his scent a bit more faint with each passing day. There was a tiny photograph tacked in Justin’s room: Mom and Dad at prom. There was the Valentine’s Day tradition of bringing roses to the grave: five red roses — one for each son, one for his wife — and a yellow rose for the daughter Eric never met.
But most of all, the memories grabbed hold of her when she looked at their children. Brayden is creative, with his dad’s love of gadgetry. He once built a 6-foot robot from household accessories. Justin plays sports as intensely as his dad, and has had the same childhood struggles with anxiety and attention problems. Keenan is sweet and relaxed, a ham for the camera. Ethan has a full-throated laugh like his father. And as Ella grew up, she became even more of a spitting image of her dad.
Every day, Heather talked to them about their father.
They logged off. Heather stayed in the kitchen. She knew her friend was right. For more than three years, Heather had been consumed with either grief or the kids. She hadn’t even thought about dating.
Meanwhile, at their home nearly 1,000 miles away, Heather’s friend turned to her husband, and they prayed: That God would open Heather’s heart. That someone would enter her life.
More than 1,000 days had passed since Eric’s death. Heather learned something: You don’t get over these things; you just get a little more used to them each day.
“She was just a wreck in the beginning,” said Brett Jacobs, Eric’s youngest brother. “Like she was a shell of a person.... Just a distant stare in her face at times.”
She went to therapy, and took the kids, too. But everywhere she looked, Eric surrounded her.
There was Eric’s old canoe she kept under the deck. There were Eric’s clothes, still hanging in the closet, his scent a bit more faint with each passing day. There was a tiny photograph tacked in Justin’s room: Mom and Dad at prom. There was the Valentine’s Day tradition of bringing roses to the grave: five red roses — one for each son, one for his wife — and a yellow rose for the daughter Eric never met.
But most of all, the memories grabbed hold of her when she looked at their children. Brayden is creative, with his dad’s love of gadgetry. He once built a 6-foot robot from household accessories. Justin plays sports as intensely as his dad, and has had the same childhood struggles with anxiety and attention problems. Keenan is sweet and relaxed, a ham for the camera. Ethan has a full-throated laugh like his father. And as Ella grew up, she became even more of a spitting image of her dad.
Every day, Heather talked to them about their father.
While Justin toils away at football practice in Ankeny, Brayden sprints after little brother Ethan. Mom enjoys a few moments of just sitting still. (Christopher Gannon/The Register)
Remember when Daddy had a bubble bath fight with you? she asked at bath time. Remember when the minivan door was frozen shut, and Daddy accidentally kicked it clear off its hinges? she asked in winter. Remember Daddy’s crazy idea to sell Iowa sweet corn online, boxed in dry ice and shipped nationwide? Remember how Daddy loved the cardboard boat regatta at Ankeny SummerFest?
They laughed and laughed about their dad’s funny stories. But ever since the boys watched the video Eric had made before his death, they were obsessed with something else: Dad said you need a husband, they told their mother.
They laughed and laughed about their dad’s funny stories. But ever since the boys watched the video Eric had made before his death, they were obsessed with something else: Dad said you need a husband, they told their mother.
“It’s not like you go to the husband store and just pick one out,” Heather told them.
Anyway, life was hectic enough. Something as simple as laundry meant chaos. A common sight in the laundry room: six loads of laundry already folded, five loads waiting to be folded, four loads still to be washed. The sports leagues were overwhelming, too. Heather synched her Google calendar to her phone to keep her schedule straight. That’s what you do when you go to 103 baseball games in the course of a summer.
Anyway, life was hectic enough. Something as simple as laundry meant chaos. A common sight in the laundry room: six loads of laundry already folded, five loads waiting to be folded, four loads still to be washed. The sports leagues were overwhelming, too. Heather synched her Google calendar to her phone to keep her schedule straight. That’s what you do when you go to 103 baseball games in the course of a summer.
A wide-eyed Ella, 3, watches as daredevil brother Keenan, 7, climbs the stone fireplace in the living room of their home. Although life in the household has often been hectic, relatives and friends have always been around to give Heather Jacobs a hand with the kids. (Christopher Gannon/The Register)
The kids are a wild, hectic bunch. They climb their stone fireplace all the way to the ceiling. They make mounds of sofa cushions and dive onto them. And there are the tantrums two of the boys have, the same way Eric blew up over small frustrations when he was a kid. On a recent evening, Heather told Ethan he needed a new baseball glove because his old one was too small. As she cooked dinner, the 5-year-old flipped out, screaming, banging a baseball bat on the kitchen floor, eventually hitting his mother in the shin before she just walked away.
On an evening earlier this spring after one of Brayden’s baseball practices, the team went to the coach’s house for a pizza party. Heather sat on the back deck, soothing Ella, who’d cut her foot. Heather scanned the yard, keeping an eye on her four other children.
On an evening earlier this spring after one of Brayden’s baseball practices, the team went to the coach’s house for a pizza party. Heather sat on the back deck, soothing Ella, who’d cut her foot. Heather scanned the yard, keeping an eye on her four other children.
And that’s when a man sat down next to her: balding, a neatly trimmed goatee, a playful twinkle in his blue eyes. He introduced himself as Dan Moen, the father of one of Brayden’s teammates. He scanned the yard. Then he asked: “Do you have five kids?”
Heather rolled her eyes as she gave the answer that stops men in their tracks: Yes, she said.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dan replied. “So do I.”
Heather’s ears perked up. Each had four boys and a girl; hers were ages 3 to 10, his 4 to 19. Heather didn’t check to see whether he wore a ring — that sort of stuff never crossed her mind. They started talking about their kids, but soon Heather had to leave. It was nearly bedtime.
The season wore on. At every game, Dan sat behind Heather, waiting in vain to catch her gaze. He was impressed: What a wonderful mother, he thought. He noticed she brought a duffel bag full of toys and coloring books to keep her kids entertained. Once, Dan brought his own mother to a game and pointed out the cute single mom.
On Memorial Day weekend, there was another postgame party, at the home of one of Brayden’s teammates. Heather was still thinking of her Facebook chat, and her friend’s advice that she open herself to dating. Heather sat in a folding chair, and noticed something: It seemed like that man with the five kids kept looking at her. No, she thought, you’re imagining it. But their eyes kept meeting. She got nervous. She noticed Dan had nice ankles, thin and tan. She started sweating. Someone got up from the seat next to her; Dan sat down there. No sooner did they start to chat than Heather had to leave. It was nearly bedtime, and Eric’s family was visiting for the weekend.
Back home, Heather noticed a text from a strange number: You left your wine here at the party. Want me to bring it out to your house?
It was Dan. She gave him directions, and when Dan showed up, Eric’s brother Ryan came outside. The three of them talked for half an hour. As he was leaving, Dan turned to her: “Do you mind if I text you sometime?” he asked.
Heather gulped. She hadn’t even talked with another man — not in that way — since Eric’s death.
Sure, she said.
The next day, a text: Great talking to you, Dan wrote.
Heather felt silly, being so nervous about this. It felt like sixth grade all over again. Later, she texted back: I don’t know if I can do this. I haven’t talked with any man since my husband died.
It’s only chatting, Dan assured her. So throughout June, they became texting buddies, dozens of times a day. Heather had to upgrade her texting plan.
And she thought if he was going to keep doing this, she wouldn’t hold back. Today’s been a crappy day, she texted him once. I miss Eric.
I’m sorry, Dan replied. That’s gotta be hard.
With most guys, she thought, show them your baggage, and they’ll run. Dan didn’t. And he wasn’t freaked out when she talked about Eric. She texted about their upcoming wedding anniversary. She texted about her frustrations with Ethan’s temper tantrums. She mentioned Ethan was starting therapy sessions.
The next day, Dan texted her: How did therapy go? He remembered, Heather thought.
She wasn’t eating. She was sick to her stomach with nerves. She lost 15 pounds during June. Dating again — was that fair to Eric? But those were his instructions, she thought.
Eric was always with her, but as time went on, Heather realized she needed to tuck those memories away. She’d packed his clothes in boxes in the basement; she’d removed her wedding band and put it in her jewelry box.
Still, she didn’t want to dive right in. She needed to do her homework about this guy, learn more than just the basics: that he was 42, had five kids and worked at a Des Moines veterinary supply company. The baseball coach was Dan’s boss, so Heather asked the boss’s wife about Dan. He’s a great guy, she said, a hard worker, a solid Christian. But then she mentioned a huge roadblock: Dan was divorced. Three times.
Well, Heather thought, this thing’s over. Was he an alcoholic? she wondered. Did he beat his wives? Was he a bad father?
That night, after Heather’s kids went to bed, Dan called. They’d been texting nonstop, but this was the first time they’d talked on the phone. Heather had no desire to play games. She asked about the divorces.
For more than an hour, Dan explained: He’d married young, he said, and started having kids when he was young. Each wife left him, he said. He’d fought to get full custody of his two oldest boys, and he had partial custody of the other children. All his marriages seemed more like two people co-existing than true love.
His explanation calmed Heather’s nerves. She had worked in human resources, and she trusted her instincts. He seemed like a good guy. He called his two oldest boys daily, even just to say he loved them. He can’t change his past, only his future, she figured.
So they kept texting and talking on the phone. Then, when Heather’s kids were at their grandparents’ house for a week in early summer, Dan came over. For hours that night and the next, they chatted on her porch. They talked about life and about God, about parenting and about their pasts.
Heather described her relationship with Eric, how they were best friends, how they talked for hours every night, how she would always miss him.
When she looked up, Dan was crying.
“Heather, I’ve never had that,” he said. “Not even close.”
It was then she decided: This was getting serious. And Dan needed to see something.
A couple of nights later, Heather drove to Dan’s apartment in Des Moines after he put his 4-year-old daughter, Amber, to bed. Inside Heather’s purse was the video Eric had made.
“I wanted him to see what kind of person Eric was, just so he knew from the get-go what he was getting into,” Heather explained later. “And I felt like I needed it.”
They sat on Dan’s couch. Eric’s face popped up on the television. Heather knew she would cry, so as the video played, she asked Dan to hold her hand. It was the first time in 17 years she had held the hand of a man who wasn’t Eric.
For 40 minutes, Eric’s voice was the only sound. He spoke of his faith. He spoke of his family. He instructed Heather to find a good Christian man, a father for their children.
The video ended. Dan took a deep breath. If he had known Eric, he said, he would have loved the guy.
“But can I live up to what Eric was?” Dan asked.
She shushed him. The two sat on the couch, facing each other. For Heather, watching the video with Dan felt like Eric was giving his blessing.
Their eyes locked. Their lips touched, then a moment later, pulled apart.
“Wow,” they said, at the exact same time.
Heather rolled her eyes as she gave the answer that stops men in their tracks: Yes, she said.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dan replied. “So do I.”
Heather’s ears perked up. Each had four boys and a girl; hers were ages 3 to 10, his 4 to 19. Heather didn’t check to see whether he wore a ring — that sort of stuff never crossed her mind. They started talking about their kids, but soon Heather had to leave. It was nearly bedtime.
The season wore on. At every game, Dan sat behind Heather, waiting in vain to catch her gaze. He was impressed: What a wonderful mother, he thought. He noticed she brought a duffel bag full of toys and coloring books to keep her kids entertained. Once, Dan brought his own mother to a game and pointed out the cute single mom.
On Memorial Day weekend, there was another postgame party, at the home of one of Brayden’s teammates. Heather was still thinking of her Facebook chat, and her friend’s advice that she open herself to dating. Heather sat in a folding chair, and noticed something: It seemed like that man with the five kids kept looking at her. No, she thought, you’re imagining it. But their eyes kept meeting. She got nervous. She noticed Dan had nice ankles, thin and tan. She started sweating. Someone got up from the seat next to her; Dan sat down there. No sooner did they start to chat than Heather had to leave. It was nearly bedtime, and Eric’s family was visiting for the weekend.
Back home, Heather noticed a text from a strange number: You left your wine here at the party. Want me to bring it out to your house?
It was Dan. She gave him directions, and when Dan showed up, Eric’s brother Ryan came outside. The three of them talked for half an hour. As he was leaving, Dan turned to her: “Do you mind if I text you sometime?” he asked.
Heather gulped. She hadn’t even talked with another man — not in that way — since Eric’s death.
Sure, she said.
The next day, a text: Great talking to you, Dan wrote.
Heather felt silly, being so nervous about this. It felt like sixth grade all over again. Later, she texted back: I don’t know if I can do this. I haven’t talked with any man since my husband died.
It’s only chatting, Dan assured her. So throughout June, they became texting buddies, dozens of times a day. Heather had to upgrade her texting plan.
And she thought if he was going to keep doing this, she wouldn’t hold back. Today’s been a crappy day, she texted him once. I miss Eric.
I’m sorry, Dan replied. That’s gotta be hard.
With most guys, she thought, show them your baggage, and they’ll run. Dan didn’t. And he wasn’t freaked out when she talked about Eric. She texted about their upcoming wedding anniversary. She texted about her frustrations with Ethan’s temper tantrums. She mentioned Ethan was starting therapy sessions.
The next day, Dan texted her: How did therapy go? He remembered, Heather thought.
She wasn’t eating. She was sick to her stomach with nerves. She lost 15 pounds during June. Dating again — was that fair to Eric? But those were his instructions, she thought.
Eric was always with her, but as time went on, Heather realized she needed to tuck those memories away. She’d packed his clothes in boxes in the basement; she’d removed her wedding band and put it in her jewelry box.
Still, she didn’t want to dive right in. She needed to do her homework about this guy, learn more than just the basics: that he was 42, had five kids and worked at a Des Moines veterinary supply company. The baseball coach was Dan’s boss, so Heather asked the boss’s wife about Dan. He’s a great guy, she said, a hard worker, a solid Christian. But then she mentioned a huge roadblock: Dan was divorced. Three times.
Well, Heather thought, this thing’s over. Was he an alcoholic? she wondered. Did he beat his wives? Was he a bad father?
That night, after Heather’s kids went to bed, Dan called. They’d been texting nonstop, but this was the first time they’d talked on the phone. Heather had no desire to play games. She asked about the divorces.
For more than an hour, Dan explained: He’d married young, he said, and started having kids when he was young. Each wife left him, he said. He’d fought to get full custody of his two oldest boys, and he had partial custody of the other children. All his marriages seemed more like two people co-existing than true love.
His explanation calmed Heather’s nerves. She had worked in human resources, and she trusted her instincts. He seemed like a good guy. He called his two oldest boys daily, even just to say he loved them. He can’t change his past, only his future, she figured.
So they kept texting and talking on the phone. Then, when Heather’s kids were at their grandparents’ house for a week in early summer, Dan came over. For hours that night and the next, they chatted on her porch. They talked about life and about God, about parenting and about their pasts.
Heather described her relationship with Eric, how they were best friends, how they talked for hours every night, how she would always miss him.
When she looked up, Dan was crying.
“Heather, I’ve never had that,” he said. “Not even close.”
It was then she decided: This was getting serious. And Dan needed to see something.
A couple of nights later, Heather drove to Dan’s apartment in Des Moines after he put his 4-year-old daughter, Amber, to bed. Inside Heather’s purse was the video Eric had made.
“I wanted him to see what kind of person Eric was, just so he knew from the get-go what he was getting into,” Heather explained later. “And I felt like I needed it.”
They sat on Dan’s couch. Eric’s face popped up on the television. Heather knew she would cry, so as the video played, she asked Dan to hold her hand. It was the first time in 17 years she had held the hand of a man who wasn’t Eric.
For 40 minutes, Eric’s voice was the only sound. He spoke of his faith. He spoke of his family. He instructed Heather to find a good Christian man, a father for their children.
The video ended. Dan took a deep breath. If he had known Eric, he said, he would have loved the guy.
“But can I live up to what Eric was?” Dan asked.
She shushed him. The two sat on the couch, facing each other. For Heather, watching the video with Dan felt like Eric was giving his blessing.
Their eyes locked. Their lips touched, then a moment later, pulled apart.
“Wow,” they said, at the exact same time.
Heather Jacobs gets a kiss from boyfriend Dan Moen while two of Moen’s sons relax nearby during a tailgate party at an Iowa State University football game in October. Between the two of them, Heather and Dan have 10 children. (Christopher Gannon/The Register)
And just like when Heather and Eric had started dating, from that moment on, everything felt right.
Heather and Dan went to Ankeny SummerFest, danced together to a live band, and visited the memorial rock SummerFest organizers had imprinted with Eric’s photo. They went to church together. They got their 10 children to hang out together, and the kids got along. They went to an REO Speedwagon concert at the Iowa State Fair, where they bought matching anklets. They watched football together.
Heather’s kids noticed their mom was smiling all the time. She’d be making dinner, and Dan would give her a kiss. The boys would yell: “Gross!” “X-rated!” But the boys also thought back to the video: This was what Dad wanted.
Heather and Dan went to Ankeny SummerFest, danced together to a live band, and visited the memorial rock SummerFest organizers had imprinted with Eric’s photo. They went to church together. They got their 10 children to hang out together, and the kids got along. They went to an REO Speedwagon concert at the Iowa State Fair, where they bought matching anklets. They watched football together.
Heather’s kids noticed their mom was smiling all the time. She’d be making dinner, and Dan would give her a kiss. The boys would yell: “Gross!” “X-rated!” But the boys also thought back to the video: This was what Dad wanted.
On the evening of July 27, the 14th anniversary of Heather and Eric’s wedding, Dan came over. The children were about to take Mom out to dinner, and Dan was invited, but Heather was still sad. She opened the front door, and there was Dan with a dozen roses. “Today is a tough day for you,” Dan said, “and Eric isn’t here to get you roses.”
Heather talked with the boys about her relationship with Dan. He wouldn’t be a replacement for your dad, she explained. He would be a bonus: “You’d have a dad that loves you in heaven, and another dad on earth,” she told them.
One weekend day this fall, Dan was driving Heather’s SUV with “CRZE4CY” on her Cyclones license plate. In the back seat were Heather’s children. Dan steered onto a gravel road, and dust soon clouded the air. Brayden piped up: “Dad, roll up the window real quick!” Heather and Dan locked eyes. Brayden caught himself: “I mean, Dad Moen, roll up the window real quick!”
“No problem, bud,” Dan shouted, rolling up his window.
A week ago Sunday, as the late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon, Dan drove his truck to Heather’s house in Polk City, and the two got dressed up for a night on the town. It was two days before Heather’s 35th birthday. They had a baby sitter for the kids, dinner reservations downtown and tickets to see “Mary Poppins” at the Civic Center of Greater Des Moines.
Downtown felt festive for the holidays, and fellow theatergoers wrapped themselves tightly against the cold December wind. First stop: Django, a hip, elegant French brasserie downtown. A small Christmas tree lit up the window next to their table. Heather ordered a martini, Dan a Bud Light. He excused himself for the bathroom.
Heather sat alone at the corner table. She read through the menu. Then, from a small boombox on an adjacent table, a country ballad floated into the quiet. It was a Brad Paisley song — their song. Something’s up, Heather thought. The song began: “I remember trying not to stare the night that I first met you... And three weeks later in the front porch light … I hadn’t told you yet but I thought I loved you then.”
Heather talked with the boys about her relationship with Dan. He wouldn’t be a replacement for your dad, she explained. He would be a bonus: “You’d have a dad that loves you in heaven, and another dad on earth,” she told them.
One weekend day this fall, Dan was driving Heather’s SUV with “CRZE4CY” on her Cyclones license plate. In the back seat were Heather’s children. Dan steered onto a gravel road, and dust soon clouded the air. Brayden piped up: “Dad, roll up the window real quick!” Heather and Dan locked eyes. Brayden caught himself: “I mean, Dad Moen, roll up the window real quick!”
“No problem, bud,” Dan shouted, rolling up his window.
A week ago Sunday, as the late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon, Dan drove his truck to Heather’s house in Polk City, and the two got dressed up for a night on the town. It was two days before Heather’s 35th birthday. They had a baby sitter for the kids, dinner reservations downtown and tickets to see “Mary Poppins” at the Civic Center of Greater Des Moines.
Downtown felt festive for the holidays, and fellow theatergoers wrapped themselves tightly against the cold December wind. First stop: Django, a hip, elegant French brasserie downtown. A small Christmas tree lit up the window next to their table. Heather ordered a martini, Dan a Bud Light. He excused himself for the bathroom.
Heather sat alone at the corner table. She read through the menu. Then, from a small boombox on an adjacent table, a country ballad floated into the quiet. It was a Brad Paisley song — their song. Something’s up, Heather thought. The song began: “I remember trying not to stare the night that I first met you... And three weeks later in the front porch light … I hadn’t told you yet but I thought I loved you then.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Dan, striding back to the table in his white shirt and checkered tie. He carried a single red rose. She looked up at him and covered her mouth with her hand. She stood, her knees shaky, and looked into his eyes.
"Ever since the first time that I laid eyes on you, you changed my life,” Dan said. “More than I ever thought possible. I cannot imagine a day of my life without you.”
"Ever since the first time that I laid eyes on you, you changed my life,” Dan said. “More than I ever thought possible. I cannot imagine a day of my life without you.”
He dropped to his right knee, pulled a small gray box from his pocket, and opened it.
Inside was a diamond, more than half a carat, marquise cut, classy and simple. It was perfect.
She noticed the diamond was mounted on a white gold band, different from the yellow gold ring Eric had given her: a fresh start. She didn’t think of Eric then. She had tucked his memory away.
Inside was a diamond, more than half a carat, marquise cut, classy and simple. It was perfect.
She noticed the diamond was mounted on a white gold band, different from the yellow gold ring Eric had given her: a fresh start. She didn’t think of Eric then. She had tucked his memory away.
Her late husband wanted Heather to remarry. Next year, she and Dan will make that wish come true. (Christopher Gannon/The Register)
Dan held the box in his left hand, and Heather’s hands folded over his right.
“Heather Jacobs,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Her voice was barely audible through the tears:
“Yes.”
“Heather Jacobs,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Her voice was barely audible through the tears:
“Yes.”
Epilogue
The video Eric Jacobs made four months before he died in a 2006 plane crash has impacted lives far and wide. In the video, he speaks of God’s purpose for every life, and asks his family “to show this to people to witness to them.”
A megachurch near Chicago, the fourth-largest church in the country, caught wind of the video and focused a Sunday service on its message. Another megachurch in Kentucky also played the video. A woman in that congregation was so touched by it that she contacted the Jacobs family and bought the family a dinner a week for an entire year.
“It inspired people to act on their impulses rather than leave them unnoticed,” said Pat Jacobs, Eric’s mom. “I’m amazed it’s still inspiring people. He was a person acting on those spirit-led impulses.”
Heather Jacobs and her children try to watch the video every Nov.13, the anniversary of Eric’s death. Heather has shared the video with family, friends and strangers, per Eric’s instructions. Eric’s father showed it to a friend; that friend credited the video with helping his troubled marriage.
Both of Eric’s brothers moved back to Iowa from Arizona shortly after Eric’s death, as he’d instructed. Ryan Jacobs moved into Heather’s house to help raise the kids; he lived with her for five months. Brett Jacobs moved back to Iowa in 2007, and for a couple of years baby-sat every week. Brett and his fiancee are now expecting their first child. He started regularly attending church after watching Eric’s video.
“The stories in the Bible, of angels talking to people, maybe there are really angels talking to people in one way or another,” Brett Jacobs said. “Maybe the stories of the Bible are more true than they are an allegory.... (The video) changed my outlook on life, definitely. You don’t want to take a day for granted.”
Eric asked his parents, Mark and Pat Jacobs, to move closer to help Heather raise their grandchildren. They still live in Bettendorf, but they visit the grandchildren frequently. Both say the video strengthened their Christianity; both find it tough to watch.
“I think everyone wants to have the opportunity to say, 'Here’s what I want y’all to do if I’m gone,’” said Mark Jacobs. “His biggest message was, 'You only have this one life. Don’t waste it.’ You never know when it will be your last day on earth.”
At Two Rivers Marketing, some of Eric’s co-workers have watched the video; some haven’t. The company has grown since the tragedy killed four of its 54 employees. It now employs 68 and strives to keep its family atmosphere. When Heather Jacobs was getting her Ankeny house ready to put on the market, a dozen Two Rivers employees joined Eric’s brothers to put a new roof on it.
Co-worker Keith Kmett, who has watched the video, was supposed to be on the fateful 2006 business trip before Eric took his place. He has “survivor’s guilt,” and still gets nightmares every November. In the video, Eric tells Kmett he’s in a false religion.
“That’s so Eric,” said Kmett, who continues to practice his Mormon faith. “Religion can tear apart the world sometimes. We’d always argue about it till we were blue in the face, but never once wouldn’t he say afterward, 'Are you coming over for dinner?’ ... But as he says, he got the last word.”
Eric also mentions colleague Levi Rosol. He has not become a Christian, as Eric had hoped. Rosol continues to manage a group Eric started that encourages Iowa information technology leaders to get involved in the community.
“It made me pause and think twice about what I cherish in life,” Rosol said. What Eric Jacobs cherished most in life was his family. In the video, Eric repeated one statement again and again: His wife should remarry.
On Dec. 5, Heather and Dan Moen were engaged. They plan to marry next year. The first person Heather called after the proposal was Brayden, her oldest son. He asked that she text him a picture of the ring. Then Brayden asked which store the ring came from.
“I just wanted to make sure it was expensive enough,” Brayden told her. “You deserve that, Mom.”
A megachurch near Chicago, the fourth-largest church in the country, caught wind of the video and focused a Sunday service on its message. Another megachurch in Kentucky also played the video. A woman in that congregation was so touched by it that she contacted the Jacobs family and bought the family a dinner a week for an entire year.
“It inspired people to act on their impulses rather than leave them unnoticed,” said Pat Jacobs, Eric’s mom. “I’m amazed it’s still inspiring people. He was a person acting on those spirit-led impulses.”
Heather Jacobs and her children try to watch the video every Nov.13, the anniversary of Eric’s death. Heather has shared the video with family, friends and strangers, per Eric’s instructions. Eric’s father showed it to a friend; that friend credited the video with helping his troubled marriage.
Both of Eric’s brothers moved back to Iowa from Arizona shortly after Eric’s death, as he’d instructed. Ryan Jacobs moved into Heather’s house to help raise the kids; he lived with her for five months. Brett Jacobs moved back to Iowa in 2007, and for a couple of years baby-sat every week. Brett and his fiancee are now expecting their first child. He started regularly attending church after watching Eric’s video.
“The stories in the Bible, of angels talking to people, maybe there are really angels talking to people in one way or another,” Brett Jacobs said. “Maybe the stories of the Bible are more true than they are an allegory.... (The video) changed my outlook on life, definitely. You don’t want to take a day for granted.”
Eric asked his parents, Mark and Pat Jacobs, to move closer to help Heather raise their grandchildren. They still live in Bettendorf, but they visit the grandchildren frequently. Both say the video strengthened their Christianity; both find it tough to watch.
“I think everyone wants to have the opportunity to say, 'Here’s what I want y’all to do if I’m gone,’” said Mark Jacobs. “His biggest message was, 'You only have this one life. Don’t waste it.’ You never know when it will be your last day on earth.”
At Two Rivers Marketing, some of Eric’s co-workers have watched the video; some haven’t. The company has grown since the tragedy killed four of its 54 employees. It now employs 68 and strives to keep its family atmosphere. When Heather Jacobs was getting her Ankeny house ready to put on the market, a dozen Two Rivers employees joined Eric’s brothers to put a new roof on it.
Co-worker Keith Kmett, who has watched the video, was supposed to be on the fateful 2006 business trip before Eric took his place. He has “survivor’s guilt,” and still gets nightmares every November. In the video, Eric tells Kmett he’s in a false religion.
“That’s so Eric,” said Kmett, who continues to practice his Mormon faith. “Religion can tear apart the world sometimes. We’d always argue about it till we were blue in the face, but never once wouldn’t he say afterward, 'Are you coming over for dinner?’ ... But as he says, he got the last word.”
Eric also mentions colleague Levi Rosol. He has not become a Christian, as Eric had hoped. Rosol continues to manage a group Eric started that encourages Iowa information technology leaders to get involved in the community.
“It made me pause and think twice about what I cherish in life,” Rosol said. What Eric Jacobs cherished most in life was his family. In the video, Eric repeated one statement again and again: His wife should remarry.
On Dec. 5, Heather and Dan Moen were engaged. They plan to marry next year. The first person Heather called after the proposal was Brayden, her oldest son. He asked that she text him a picture of the ring. Then Brayden asked which store the ring came from.
“I just wanted to make sure it was expensive enough,” Brayden told her. “You deserve that, Mom.”
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