Mamorial

Mamorial's objective is to become a permanent, large-scale traveling art installation that juxtaposes the inner strength and utter vulnerability of breast cancer patients, conveying the full spectrum of the physical and emotional effects of the breast cancer experience. Mamorial was founded in 2005 by Mary Ellen Scherl, an established fine artist and sculptor who had a lumpectomy after her own breast cancer scare and whose mother was diagnosed some 30 years ago.

The focus of the Mamorial installation is an extensive collection of life-castings of breasts affected by cancer, cast at any stage of disease from the scare of detection to radical treatment, including mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.

Mamorial's mission is to:

• Generate greater global awareness & action.
• Provide greater motivation for early detection.
• Contribute to the healing process of survivors.

Stimulate funding for intensified research, leading to a cure, prevention.

A letter about mamorial

As I began my freshman year of high school things were going well. I had come to grips with my new school and for the most part a whole new way of life. Things were great, I was doing well in school and I had a pretty active social life. I felt untouchable, like nothing bad could happen to me, things at the time were just too good.

It wasn't long before I was knocked off my high horse. At the beginning of my second semester of high school things were about to change, and I don't mean just my classes. I hadn't noticed at the time, but inside my mind there was this list of things that couldn't happen to me. I don't know what it was that made me think they couldn't happen, but it was a sense of security. I was fourteen at the time and I had never even thought about something like this happening. It had happened to my friend's mom, but it didn't happen to mine. My mom didn't get cancer.

January 27th 2005 -
To you its just a day, a day almost two years ago, nothing special happened, you don't remember January 27th the way I do. I think of January 27th 2005 as the day this "horse" I had hitched a ride on broke his leg. My mom had gone for a routine mammography and things didn't go very well. In her left breast the doctor found a "calcification". To me that doesn't mean much. Basically it was a series of little tiny white dots on this sort of x-ray of my mom's left breast. There was no lump, just these little white dots, or the beginning of an uphill battle, for the whole family, not just my mom. Nothing was certain yet, but it is harder to ride a horse with a limp.

For the next month things were unsure. I had pushed it out of my mind as best possible. Because nothing was official yet, this was less challenging then it probably should have been, but it was how I was dealing with it. I knew that I didn't want to get too upset because what if these "little white dots" were just that? What if they didn't mean anything, they could stay there, and things would be okay. But on the other hand, what if they weren't? What if these "dots" were cancer? It was a good verses evil situation. On the one side, the unlikely but less traumatic, dressed in white, with a halo and angle wings. And on the opposing team cancer, dressed in red, with a pitchfork and devil horns. Each one on a different shoulder, and constantly invading my thoughts.

February 23rd 2005 -
About a week before my mom had gone for a biopsy, to end this battle happening on top of my shoulders, and definitely her own. And February 23rd was the day the test was supposed to be back, and my mom was going to find out whom the winner was. Was good going to prevail over evil? Or was evil going to clip good's wings? I'd like to think good would have prevailed, but in this case good got its ass kicked.I couldn't bring myself to go to school that day, I think that deep down I knew, but I had a serious case of denial. I had stayed home from school, and with so much time on my hands and so much going on between my ears. I needed something to do, so I cleaned the kitchen, and I don't mean just whipped up. By the time I was done not only had the cabinets been polished but the floor sparkled too. I had just finished when a very collected, very well held together version of my mom walked in the front door, slowly. She never had to actually say the words. I could tell by her gentle footing and the look in her eye. It wasn't going to be good. I had been reared off of my high horse, and I hit the ground pretty hard. So for the next few months, I walked, on my own two feet and every once and a while, my knees would give out, and I would break down. I tried to do this only when I was alone, but it didn't always work out that way. I had thought I could handle this without everyone else knowing.

So I had chosen not to tell my friends (this biggest mistake I've ever made). I would be a little distracted and they would ask if I were okay, I would just dismiss it, say "Yeah! I was just... thinking." And put on a smile and pretend things were fine. And then I couldn't handle it anymore, friends and I were at lunch one day, things were normal we were all talking, when one of my friends said, "I'm going out with my mom later." And I lost it. I began to cry uncontrollably, and no one knew why. I then realized that I was not doing a very good job handling it, and I needed to talk to someone. I needed someone to tell me that she was going to be all right, even if it wasn't true, I needed to hear it. So I told my friends what had been going on with me for the last month or so. They all said the same thing, "she'll be alright." I knew they didn't really know that, no one knew that. But it helped I began to believe it. Believing that she was going to be all right helped me get though the next few months. My mom was scheduled for a mastectomy and reconstruction of her left breast on Wednesday, May 4th 2005. She was going to be in the hospital for a few days after her surgery and mother's day had fallen on that Sunday, May 8th, and she was more than likely still going to be in the hospital.

So the day before she was scheduled for her surgery my brother and I went on a mission, to find her a mother's day present. The two of us left from school and went all over the world. We could not find anything anywhere. Finally, after going to the mall, and every store in Northern New Jersey, we were ready to give up. At eight o'clock that night we finally found something. And finally got to go home. Since seven o'clock when I left to go to school until the very second I walked in the door that night, I had been fighting back tears. I walked in the door dropped my purse and the next thing I know I'm sitting on my mom's lap crying like a two year old. This went on for at least an hour; I just couldn't hold it together anymore.The next day, she had her surgery, and it went well. She was home by Monday, a little out of sorts, but she was home, and that was all that mattered to me. With in a few weeks she was walking around, by mid June she was back at work, and by July we were on the beach. Things for the most part were back to normal. But there was one more thing we were still unsure about, chemotherapy. Was she going to need it, or not? When they operated, the doctors found some invasive cancer. Although they had decided that it was controlled and that they had gotten all of the cancerous cells, so she didn't need chemo, and my mom was in the clear (and still is).

Almost a year after having had surgery my mom heard about an organization for women who had breast cancer. This organization, Mamorial, is a sort of tribute to healing and surviving breast cancer, meant for women (and men) whom have beaten breast cancer. The artist, Mary Ellen Scherl, makes life casts of breasts that have survived cancer. Before having cancer my mom would have never even considered doing something like this. But she was inspired, liberated, and she had a mold and cast made of her left breast for Mamorial. After having the cast made my mom got involved with Mamorial. In July of this year my mom and I drove up to Vermont to help Mary Ellen show her work at the Susan B. Komen Race for the Cure. I'm not going to lie; when I first agreed to go with my mom I was less than enthused. Although, after being there, I have changed my mind. The women I met were all so positive and so enthusiastic and happy to be alive; it was refreshing to meet so many people with the same love for each day. Being there with Mamorial made me realize how lucky my mom was, even though it was hard at the time it could have been so much worse then it was, that my family and I, as far as things like this go, got lucky.

Who knew little white dots could cause so much damage?

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