Service remembers Air Angels crash victims

They say time heals all wounds.

But on the first anniversary of the Air Angels crash that killed a baby girl and the three Air Angels crewmen trying to save her life, it was apparent that time — at least a year's worth — is simply not enough.

Former Air Angels flight crew members Susan Lencioni (left) Ben Yedor (center) and Heidi Bigelow embrace before the start of a memorial for their fellow fight crew members at Faith Lutheran Church in Aurora Thursday.
(Jonathan Miano/Staff Photographer)

"Wounds that you think start to heal and emotions that have started to simmer down are now raw and open," said Kathy Cinty-Johnson, a nurse at Provena Mercy Medical Center who worked closely with the Air Angels crew.

To help soothe the wounds, Cinto-Johnson, along with medic Sue Lencioni and nurse Traci Tunney, organized a memorial service that was held Thursday morning at Faith Lutheran Church, near the crash site on Eola Road in Aurora. There, a couple hundred people gathered to remember their "family, friends, mentors and heroes" who lost their lives on that flight.

The tributes on this anniversary were voiced by some of those carrying the heaviest hearts, including nurse Tunney, who would have been on that ill-fated transport last October had she not been on the last stretch of her maternity leave.

Taking her place on the helicopter was 31-year-old flight nurse William Mann, whose mother also struggled emotionally as she talked about her son's legacy and the profession he dearly enjoyed.

There was no doubt these men died doing what they loved.

Rob Battiato's Air Angels partner, Ben Yedor, recalled how the always-smiling father of six would marvel daily that he was actually getting paid to do this amazing job.

And Del Waugh, the 69-year-old pilot, a highly decorated Vietnam veteran who had what co-worker Justin Williams described as "charisma that could be seen from space," also thought of his duties as more avocation than work.

A year, it is quite obvious, has not closed all the wounds. Nor has it answered all the questions, including why this helicopter hit a radio station's tower that caused it to crash into the nearby marshy field on Eola just before midnight on Oct. 15, 2008.

The accident's aftermath not only shuttered the Air Angels facility in Bolingbrook, it has greatly curtailed the medical air transport business that Congress is now moving to better regulate.

"People are afraid to call for transport now," said Yedor, who has since found work in an emergency room at a Berwyn hospital. "And as a result, I'm afraid there are outlying areas not getting the kind of service ... that can possibly save lives."

But that is a discussion for another day.

On this rainy morning, the mood inside the church was both somber and celebratory. After the speakers and a musical slide presentation honored the crewmen, guests were invited to place into a wooden time box mementos of the "fallen angels."

Already in the large chest were the four white wooden crosses that had so publicly marked the accident site along Eola Road for the past year. Added to them were items like a flag, Air Angels clothing, a child's drawing, an assortment of angel wings, crosses and medals — even a bottle of whiskey.

For Ben Yedor, who had remained relatively composed when speaking about his beloved former partner, the box was presenting a problem. The E.R. nurse had brought two items for the time capsule that will be buried next week at an undisclosed location.

The first one, his Air Angels name tag, he eagerly removed from his shirt.

He began to place the second item — a small twisted piece of molten metal — into the box. Then he pulled it back.

This scorched fragment of the helicopter was found by Yedor at the crash site near the name tag that had been attached to Ron Battiato's stethoscope.

Even at this celebration meant to bring closure, it's obvious the heart follows no calendar.

"I've been carrying this around for a year," Yedor said with a small smile. "And I thought I was ready to give it up."

Then he tucked the metal chunk back inside his breast pocket.

"I still need to keep this one close to me."