Hackworth Amy - Heaven Is Here

In Heaven Is Here, Stephanie chronicles in harrowing detail the unspeakable tragedy that would forever alter her life. But the real story is this: Through all the tears, pain, upheaval, sadness, and struggles, it was Stephanies faithand the abundant love of her beautiful familythat brought her back to life. I recommend this book to anyone who needs a reminder of just how strong the human spirit is, and how instrumental faith can be in overcoming what life throws at us.

Ree Drummond, New York Times bestselling author of The Pioneer Woman Cooks

Moving and transformative, Heaven Is Here is one of those rare books that causes you to count your blessings, and it reminds you that even in face of devastating loss, you can rebuild to become stronger. Gripping from beginning to end.

Liz Murray, author of the New York Times bestseller Breaking Night

How do you find your way back to happiness after your everyday life has been shattered? Stephanie Nielson paints a vivid picture of the happy life she possessed before a devastating plane crashand how she built that happiness again. Honest, insightful, and compulsively readable, this book gave me much food for thought.

Gretchen Rubin, author of the New York Times bestseller The Happiness Project

For anyone who wonders how they will come through a difficult time, Heaven Is Here proves that human beings were built to survive. Stephanie Nielson weaves a humbling and spellbinding tale of how her perfect life was upended on one beautiful afternoon. Her story is a powerful testament of the healing powers of an unyielding faith, the gift of family, and the unshakable love of her husband. As I read this book it was impossible for me not to think of the parallels to my own story and the tender mercies that can be found in the wake of disaster when everything you hold most dear becomes crystal clear.

Lee Woodruff, author of the New York Times bestseller In an Instant

Dedication

For Claire, who never gave up.

For Jane, who looked at me, and changed my recovery.

For Ollie, who never cared.

For Nicholas, who was my baby then and always will be.

For Little Peanut, who showed me how amazing my body is.

Contents

A voice whispered, Roll.

I fell to the ground and crushed the brilliant flames that licked at my clothes, my skin, my hair. The mangled wreck of our airplane blazed nearby.

I lay on my back at the base of a tree, looking at the clouds moving across the sky. Through my tears, I noticed a leaf that fluttered in the breeze, bright green against the blue sky, far above the chaos.

A stranger rushed toward me and knelt at my side. He cradled my head in both of his hands and put it in his lap. Its going to be all right, he said, a hint of doubt in his eyes.

The fire roared in my ears. An oppressive wall of heat pulsed against me. The air was soura sickening mixture of fuel, singed hair, and burning flesh. That smell is me. I am burning. How did this happen?

Where is my husband? Just minutes ago, I was in the backseat of the Cessna, admiring how capable he looked staring out the window of the cockpit as we taxied down the runway. Where is he now?

I had pizza dough rising on the counter at home and four young children to feed. Christian and I had planned to pick them up from my in-laws in an hour and a half. I felt an irrational desire for someone to just pick me up, brush me off, and send me on my way. If I didnt get home, who would make Claires butter and honey sandwiches for her first-grade lunch box next week? Who would know to get Jane off the kindergarten bus in the middle of the day? I pictured her little red head climbing off the bus to an empty porchno mother to hug her home from school, no little brothers playing in the yard. I imagined the bus pulling away, Jane locked out of the house.

People rushed in and out of my line of vision with a sense of urgency. Some of them wore work clothes, as if theyd been mowing their lawns or working in the garden until the moment our airplane crashed on their street and theyd been called to duty. I felt guilty for interrupting their Saturday. Like me, they all had other things to do.

Thank you for being here, I said to the man who held my head. You dont have to stay.

Im going to stay, he said. Im going to be right here.

Other people hovered around me a few minutes at a time. They tried to reassure me, but it seemed they needed convincing as much as I did. Their lips mouthed words of comfort, but their faces betrayed them.

They are scared , I realized. When they look at me, they are scared.

Until then, some miraculous dam of adrenaline or heavenly help had held back the agony of my injuries. But the faces around me were crowded with worry, and the dam buckled. Suddenly, pain spilled over, crashing relentlessly against me, wave after stinging wave. Every inch of my body throbbed, overloaded with agony.

Its going to blow! someone yelled. Get the hose! The burning airplane popped and crackled dangerously near a propane tank, and neighbors-turned-rescue-workers yelled back and forth above the noise. I braced myself for another explosion, but the roar of the fire held steady.

My jeans kept the heat tight against my legs. I rubbed my hands against them, trying to pull them off, but my hands didnt seem to be working. I lifted them to see why. Flaps of skin hung from my wrists. My hands themselves were gray and bloody. I saw my bones. I dropped my arms to the ground and willed away the image.

Hey, youre going to be OK, the stranger said with believable conviction. The doubt in his eyes was gone. Youre going to be all right.

Above him, the leaf fluttered, alive and healthy. A feeling swept over me and took root in my heart.

I am going to be all right.

The dark smoke billowed around us, and blackened the sky, the tree, and my leaf.

The summer Christian learned to fly was the happiest summer of my life. After eight years of marriage, I was more in love with Christian than Id ever been. We had four beautiful children, and mothering them was an inexpressible joy. We lived in a lovely home in Mesa, Arizona, and had put our hearts and souls into making it our own. We were blessed with great friends and a civic and church community we loved. Christian had a great job as a facility manager, doing work he enjoyed, and he was just weeks away from getting his pilots license. Life was undeniably good.

One Saturday afternoon in June he called to say he and his instructor, Doug, would be flying over the house soon. A few minutes later, I heard the buzz of the engine overhead, and I hustled everyone out to the driveway.

Hey, guys! Come look! Its Daddy! Six-year-old Claire, five-year-old Jane, and three-year-old Oliver ran outside, with twenty-month-old Nicholas toddling out after them, wearing only a diaper, as usual.

The airplane circled high over our heads. The kids looked up and waved while I jumped up and down in the driveway, shouting and waving both arms. Thats your dad, guys! Flying an airplane! I waved and jumped some more while my children and a few kids from the neighborhood stared at me. Hellloooo, Christian! I shouted into the clouds. The older kids ran off to play in the backyard, but I scooped Nicholas into my arms and smiled at that airplane for as long as I could see it in the sky.