I picked up 18 Days in Heaven on a Tuesday night when I couldn’t sleep. My fears about death had been circling for months—nothing dramatic, just that low hum you can’t shake. I was tired. I wanted someone to tell me it would all be okay.
Gabe Poirot was twenty when he flatlined on a pavement. Blood coming out of his ears. The doctors revived him, but he stayed in a coma for eighteen days. During that time, his spirit left his body. He went through a tunnel of light. He met Jesus face to face. The book is his account of what he saw, heard, and felt.
I was skeptical going in. I’ve read too many near-death accounts that feel like they’re selling something—a map, a formula, a secret handshake to get you through the gates.
Something shifted about forty pages in, though.
The Detail That Got Me
It wasn’t the visions of golden streets or sapphire floors. It was something smaller. Gabe describes standing before Jesus and feeling like he was the Father’s favorite child. Not in a boastful way. In a way that made him realize every single person in heaven feels exactly the same. God loves each one completely, like they’re the only one.
My grandmother used to tell me, “God has a special love for you.” I never believed her. I thought it was just something grandmothers say. Gabe’s description made me reconsider. He described it as being fully known and fully wanted, without a shred of shame.
The book is short. He refuses to pad it. That frustrated me at first—I wanted more, more detail, more description of heaven. But maybe you can’t describe a color that doesn’t exist on earth.
The Detail That Changed How I Pray
The strongest part of the book was his description of prayer. He says prayers rise like incense in heaven—not just heard, but received, held. Every prayer you’ve ever whispered, even the ones you forgot, is still alive before God.
That image changed something in me. I have a habit of praying the same desperate prayers over and over. I worry God is tired of me. Gabe’s account suggested the opposite: that my prayers aren’t annoying. They’re precious. They’re being collected.
The book has problems. Some passages read like a sermon transcript more than a memoir. The writing can be repetitive. And if you’re looking for a theologically rigorous argument about the afterlife, this isn’t it. It’s a testimony. You either trust the witness or you don’t.
What I appreciated was how consistently he pointed back to Scripture. He doesn’t claim new revelation. He says his experience confirmed what the Bible already says. That felt humble to me. He’s not trying to start a new religion.
Permission, Not Proof
If you’re afraid to die, this book is for you. If you’ve lost someone and need to believe they’re okay. If you’re a Christian who feels worn out and distant from God. If you’re a skeptic willing to sit with an open heart for a few hours.
If you want a perfectly argued philosophical treatise, look elsewhere. Gabe isn’t a theologian. He’s a young man who almost died and came back with one message: you are loved more than you can imagine.
I finished the book and sat in silence for a while. I didn’t suddenly stop being afraid of death. But I felt something shift. A crack in the wall. A little more light coming through.
This book won’t solve your doubts. But it might make you feel slightly less alone in the dark.
