What does it mean to keep dancing?
As a teenager, you’re thinking about a lot of things but having a close friend with cancer is usually not one of them. For me, it was different. Ben was the kindest, funniest kid. One minute he was falling on his skateboard and the next minute, the bruise that wasn’t healing wound up being Leukemia.
I remember visiting the mall with a group of friends and Ben getting in trouble by the security guard for wearing a mask. I remember the security guard going from disgruntled about reckless teenagers to embarrassed when he was informed of Ben’s cancer and immunocompromised state. I remember the Build a Bear superhero that my friend and I made for him to provide comfort and strength at the hospital. And I’ll never forget our summer birthdays and the pick up truck he never got to drive.
Fast forward a relapse and a cell transplant later, he’s in the hospital dying. There’s no playbook for how to handle these things - especially for a teenager. So I told myself I didn’t want to remember him like that. Until a friend encouraged me to visit Ben in the hospital.
I set off on the highway with my new driver's license ready to conquer a fear and visit Ben in the hospital. But what happened that night changed my life forever.
Ben died.
I remember being at his bedside when the monitors began to beep. A team of medical professionals came rushing in. I can’t remember if I was kicked out or if I took a hint, but the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a white, sterile, quiet hallway, tearful and alone.
His mother brought me back in to be with them after things had settled. I remember he had a beanie on his head and sunglasses - a special moment with my funny friend amidst darkness and sadness.
And then I left. I drove home in the rain with my new drivers license and one less living friend at the age of 16; my mother worried sick.
The next weeks and months were kind of a blur. I know I attended the funeral, had brunch and watched the sunrise with some friends. I know which songs remind me of him. And I know I created a framed collage of things that represented him and his cancer experience - including a mask from that day at the mall and a news article about the faith he sustained.
But what I didn’t know is that this would be a pivotal moment for the rest of my life.
I started dancing when I was three years old and competing when I was seven years old. So not to be cheesy, but dancing in the rain always came naturally to me. I just never expected to have to dance in this type of rain.
I started volunteering at the hospital where Ben was treated and quickly learned about the Child Life profession. I stood in the playroom asking the child life specialist a million questions planning out my college career. I left that hospital after day one, steadfast on becoming a child life specialist - and never stopped. I even completed my practicum at the same hospital where he was treated and participated in a dance team throughout college while studying child psychology and Spanish studies.
I accepted my first dream job as a child life specialist in 2012, seven years after losing Ben. Unfortunately, Ben wasn’t the last death that I witnessed. I worked in the pediatric intensive care unit and became co-chair of the pediatric and perinatal bereavement council. I came alongside parents, kids, and families during the most intense and hardest moments of their lives.
I found myself dedicated to making difficult moments into better memories. And for me, that’s what keeping dancing means.
Losing Ben is a very difficult moment in my life. But it’s become something that I remember for good reasons, many of which are listed here. I could never control that he had cancer. But I could control how often we laughed. I could never control that he died. But I could control how I responded to it.
Next summer will mark 20 years since Ben has been gone. But I’ve done far more dancing than ever before. Each twist and turn in my personal and professional path has led me to a different dance. One with new opportunities for me to make difficult moments into better memories. Whether I’m literally dancing in my kitchen with my two little ones just to get through the day, taking my weekly cardio dance class for self-care, or finding creative ways to help families dance through unimaginable situations.
I am now the proud owner of Kelsey Mora, PLLC where I have created and published a workbook called The Dot Method - to teach kids about cancer, where I work directly with parents, kids, teens, and where I present nationally on the topic often for Pickles Group non-profit.
Sometimes the expected is just the beginning, the unexpected is what changes lives.
Ben, thank you for showing me what dancing can mean. When it comes to teenagers facing cancer, you always had the most positive, funny, courageous, caring, and kind moves. The world is better because you were in it and as it said on your funeral program: “if love could only save a life, you never would have died.”