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About the Book
In her new book, The Gift of Ben, Lindsey explores her path to self-acceptance, as the love she found in her son’s life gives her the power to, in turn, love herself. With raw emotion and grit, Rogers-Seitz shows us what is left on the other side of broken.
Excerpt From The Gift of Ben:
July 7, 2014
He was here, and then he was nowhere.
I had cut through the silence that hung in the room, thick and precipitous. I read the truth in the angst of their wide eyes staring back at me, interspersed within the blur of white hospital coats. The amorphous mass shifted uncomfortably, as if waiting for something. I had missed the introductions, so I focused in on the young nurse standing in front of the door. She appeared to be there by happenstance, and it gave me comfort. Her eyes were red, which seemed appropriate. The man with the glasses and clipboard started talking. I watched his mouth move; I heard only the shifting of the Earth beneath my feet.
My mind fell out of itself when I finally heard the words “He didn’t make it.” It had begun to falter early on, piecing together the scraps of a failing world, but it had been the walk down the hallway where the living lay, to the small room (This is where they tell people, I had thought) with a black Bible on a circular table, that had caused my brain to finally clamp shut in order to stop the bleeding.
I sensed their breath levitating, paused midair, waiting for the break to occur. Time became what it was meant to be—unmoving. The world around me, four walls and a mass of white, disappeared, and I was inside myself, a pool of darkness, infinite time, and a calm. So much calm. I sensed a shedding of my outer body, leaving nothing behind. Just the essence of me. Every moment of my life flashed before my eyes and coalesced into one, still and silent. The nowhere he was supposed to be turned into the everywhere I really was. With an inward gasp—”oh my God, no, no” —reality became me and hands covering my mouth, head hung low. Is this what the black book, on circular table, means by born again?
Kyle is dead, I thought. He’s killed himself. I’ve lost two people in one day. “Where’s my husband?” My eyes move from the floor to the nebulous mass, ebbing and flowing with uncertainty.
“He’s in a room,” someone answered.
I pictured him lying supine, clear coiled tubes running from his mouth, or dead. He was just simply dead. “How is he?” I finally asked.
They paused and looked at each other, until one responded, “Well, he’s…despondent. Do you want to see him?”
The question confused me. Why would I not want to see him? I thought.
“Yes. Right now.”
The mass shrank in size, as a silent breath of anxiety was exorcised from its body. I stared at them as if they were missing something integral. I had just become unbroken. I had finally understood. I had always been, and forever would be, loving and losing Ben in this one moment that simply Is.
"My mission is to spread the idea of loving through imperfection, and that people can overcome immense pain and trauma."
"An epic journey filled with bravery in each word of raw emotion"