Ben Bloom lived with gusto. He was joyful, brilliant and driven—a passionate drummer, a devoted brother and a deep thinker with a contagious sense of humor. He was the kind of person who leaned in when he talked to you, eyes locked, making you feel like you were the most important person in the room.
“Ben was a great kid,” said his mother, Mary Beth Bloom. “Ben was a selfless friend; a lot of his friends told me he was always there for them. He had a charismatic smile, and he was very silly when he was young. So, it just kind of matured into a good sense of humor.”
Ben started playing drums at age five and had wanted to be the drumline captain in high school, a goal he achieved. He played in jazz bands throughout high school and into college, performing with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra Civic Youth Ensembles Civic Jazz Orchestra, the University of Michigan-Dearborn ensemble and the Northville Jazz Band.
“Our family's last memory of him was when he was a senior in high school on the big stage,” Mary Beth said. “Since Ben was on the drum set, he was often on the big screen so everybody could see him. He had the longest drum solo I've heard him play. I look back on it now and think, yeah, that was his moment.”
Ben looked out for his younger brother, Ryan, in all aspects of life, but especially on the ice.
"They were 14 months apart. They had an amazing relationship, like twins,” she said. “They did everything together. Even through high school they played hockey on the same team and Ben was the scrapper, you know, hold the opponent against the board and Ryan would fly by and score. That's the way I think about it.”
Ben dreamed of earning a physics degree, building a meaningful career and sharing his love of music along the way. He had a quiet determination to make a difference through his deep loyalty to those he loved and natural compassion for people he had yet to meet.
In 2015, Ben’s life was tragically cut short when he suffered a brain aneurysm while working out at the gym. He was only 20 years old. Though his plans were never fully realized, his legacy endures, bringing hope to others through his corneal donation to advance vision research.
A family’s courageous decision
The decision to donate Ben’s organs and corneas came swiftly, rooted in a conversation his family had years earlier.
“I remember being in the hospital and they told us that, you know, Ben was brain dead, and we have a life-ending situation here, what are we going to do?” Mary Beth said. “Because of our family discussion, I don't know how it came to my head, but I was like, we're going to donate his organs. I think that's what Ben would want to do.”
Ben’s gifts saved and healed the lives of many. His heart gave a man the chance to meet his first grandchild. His kidney and pancreas went to a woman whose diabetes was cured—allowing her to return to the theater community she loved.
“His story of being in the hospital is amazing,” she said. “The care that he received and the respect that was given to him was amazing, to him as well as our family. We stayed an extra day in the hospital because his heart needed a little bit more time to become viable for donation. I always say Ben worked really hard at getting that heart ready to go.”
To thank the recovery team who helped facilitate Ben’s donation, the Bloom family wrote heartfelt letters and gave them a mixtape of Ben’s favorite songs. The very first song that played was Over the Rainbow.
Discovering a deeper purpose
But in the hours and days after Ben died, there was one donation his family didn’t expect.
When Mary Beth first learned Ben’s corneas would not be suitable for transplantation, her initial reaction was disappointment.
“I thought, Ben saw life so beautifully, you know, and it would've been great for somebody to receive his corneas and have a second chance at sight,” she said.
That disappointment gave way to something else when Mary Beth became more involved in the donor community and learned more about the potential impact of corneal research.
“Once our family started thinking about research, we thought, wow, that is just as impactful as a cornea donation, giving someone a second chance at sight,” she said. “But it didn't occur to me that way initially. As the years have gone by, it's a continuation of Ben's legacy. Something tangible.”
One of the many ways Mary Beth continues Ben’s legacy is to advocate for and educate others about the importance of research.
“I think a lot of people don't know [about research],” she said. “They think about cornea donation and the impact of that, and that's immeasurable because that goes on for generations, right, to see the color of your child's eyes, or your grandkids grow up and graduate, or a child be able to play football again, but research, people never really think about that.”
Carrying on Ben’s impossible list
After Ben died, Mary Beth was going through some of his things and came across a journal.
“I did not know he was journaling, but in his final journal, just a few months before he went to heaven, he wrote a page called ‘My Impossible List,’” she said.
On this list contained around 20 items to accomplish—travel the world, visit every continent except Antartica, only have 100 items in his home, write a book, and more.
“But his very first entry was ‘Change one person’s life for the better,’” Mary Beth said. “He wrote his own legacy from the very first one, so for us to take hold of that, it was easy. In reality, he changed a lot of lives while he was here. But we can help him, Eversight and his family, continue that through the research.”
In the years since Ben’s death, Mary Beth and her family have partnered with Eversight to support specific research projects. They advocate for the power and potential of research every chance they get.
“It's ongoing for us,” Mary Beth said. “It's been a way of turning our grief into action, which he was all about, and whatever progress happens in research, that's hope. If our family didn't have hope the journey would be much more difficult.”
The legacy of a life well lived
Mary Beth sees Ben’s legacy carried on not just through research, but in the people who love him. His younger brother Ryan wears a Donate Life badge while working in medicine in Washington, D.C. and tells Ben’s story to patients and coworkers any chance he gets. Ben’s cousin dresses her child in Donate Life onesies and will one day share stories of him with her family.
Friends and family bring home small stones from their travels around the world, honoring Ben’s dream of exploring the continents. And Mary Beth shares his story whenever she can.
She continues to support Eversight and advocate for research in any way she can because Ben would have.
“This couldn’t be a more perfect time for Ben to share his story,” she said. “We are trying to compare, why does it seem to mean so much more to us for some reason? Because I think it’s something we can keep giving for him. He’s done the most amazing, selfless act of love anybody can do: to give your organs to somebody else. But for us—how can we keep that connection going for him?”
They found their answer in research. In something active, something ongoing, something that—even ten years later—continues to change lives for the better.
“Change one person's life for the better. It's all that he wanted to do, and he sure did that.”
