Introduction

On January 29th, 1998, a bomb exploded outside the New Woman, All Women Healthcare Clinic where Emily Lyons worked. The blast resulted in the murder of Birmingham police officer Robert (Sande) Sanderson and serious injury to Emily. Eric bombed the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, where he murdered Alice Hawthorne and injured over a hundred innocent people. Rudolph was also behind the bombings of a family planning clinic in Atlanta, as well as a nightclub. Here is a small part of Emily’s story, taken from her book Life’s Been a Blast:

I have been called a bombing victim. Let me assure you that label is incorrect. I am a bombing survivor.

The Emily Lyons my family and friends knew was murdered by a bomb containing dynamite and nails on January 29th, 1998 at 7:33 a.m. My husband and I joke about BB and AB, Before Bomb and After Bomb. The blast only lasted a few microseconds, but it separated two lifetimes. The physically capable person I was before the attack died. The new me went through a slow and painful birth process. Just like a newborn, I had to learn to walk, speak, use my vision, and many other basic functions. Everything I had known was, pardon the pun, blown away. Life as I knew it ended that fateful Thursday morning, and my new life began. I have gone so far as to make arrangements to put three dates on my tombstone: date of birth, date of bombing, and date of death.

The bombing made national, even international news. The person accused of the crime, Eric Robert Rudolph, was on the FBI’s Top-10 Most Wanted List with a reward of $1,000,000.00. The search lasted over five years and cost more than thirty million dollars. Thousands of people became involved, including the FBI, ATF, police, bounty hunters, psychological profilers, survivalists, cave explorers, dog handlers, Native Americans, and game hunters. The latest high-tech gadgets including helicopters equipped with infrared detectors and sophisticated listening devices were deployed. In one of this story’s many ironic twists, a rookie cop ended the manhunt while doing his normal nightly patrol. The million-dollar lottery ticket was captured while digging for food in a dumpster.

This book is about the attack, but there is so much more  love and hate, life and death, joy and sorrow. Most of all, it is about survival. Tragic events do not make a person special. Life knocks everybody down. What counts is how you stand up afterwards.

A photograph on the cover was taken of me about six weeks after the attack. I was blind, in constant pain, burned, had open wounds and broken bones, unable to walk or even stand, and was horribly disfigured. I was also smiling. This book is not about just surviving; it is about surviving with a smile.

One of my favorite sayings is Not much intimidates you once you have been blown up. A schoolyard bully will dominate you only as long as you let him. Writing this book is part of how I am fighting back against my attacker. You are reading the proof that he failed. He did not instill the fear in me he wanted. He did not get the silence he longed for. Instead, he made me stronger and I found a voice deep inside me I never knew I had. He did not shut the clinic down. He did not shut me down.

Some may wonder how we could find humor in such tragic events. I fought hard to keep January 29th, 1998 from being the final date on my tombstone. In the game of life, I am in extended play, and play is exactly what I intend to do. I want to laugh at every opportunity. My vow is to enjoy the years Eric Rudolph tried to take away from me.

Dying is part of living. Almost everyone can relate to the loss of a cherished friend or family member. If you could see them again, would you want to spend your time together mourning what had been lost or enjoying the rare second chance opportunity to be with your loved one? Jeffrey and I lost each other for fifteen years when I married another man. He almost lost me again because of Rudolph. My husband wants to spend our time together laughing instead of crying, and I want to share his joy.

I had no control over what physical damage was inflicted on me, but total control over how I handled it. To hide in fear, to be silent, to be consumed by anger and hate, or to not enjoy my life, would be a victory for my attacker. It is a victory I chose not to give him. Every time I smile is a reminder that he failed, and I enjoy constant reminders.

When I was nervous prior to an operation, Jeff told me jokes. Humor was how we were able to deal with what we were going through. There had to be something to balance the tears. To leave laughter out of this book would be to leave out how we survived.

Many may find the graphic images of my trauma in this book and on my website to be offensive. I hope so. Violence is ugly. You should be offended by the senseless damage caused by the attack. It isn’t the photographs that are bad; it is the act of hate that created them. If you ever hear a person joke about hurting someone by a bomb or any other means, show them these pictures so they will know the result of hate and violence. If you wonder if the photographs accurately represent how I looked, the answer is no. According to Jeffrey, film is incapable of capturing what he brought my thirteen- and seventeen-year-old daughters into my room to see. I hope you will take the time to browse through the various images in this book and at www.emilylyons.com. The pictures tell a story of how Eric’s hate almost destroyed me and how my husband’s unwavering love pulled me through.

You may have seen bits and pieces of this saga on television, in newspapers, in magazines, or in other books. It is my hope that you enjoy reading the rest of my story.

Emily Lyons, RN
Bombing Survivor