Stacy Scott-Green: The woman, the myth, the motherfucking legend.

Fuck. I don’t give one semblance of a fuck if this appears to be all over the place. Fuck you if you do, and fuck any kind of cancer even more.

Today, around 9:45 AM CT, my mother, Stacy Scott-Green passed away after a 9-month battle with pancreatic cancer. She was 54 and would’ve turned 55 on December 15. I did not know that she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in February. I had no inkling whatsoever. I last saw her on Thanksgiving and actually told her how she good she looked. She joked that she had been “frantically” trying to lose weight since the summer, and that her hard work had finally paid off. I told her I would show her how to clap her newfound ass and shake what her mama gave her. Little did I know, she was dying.
She was my everything; my fucking hero. When I decided the time was right to come out as a lesbian, she was the first person I went to. She was the only person who knew for well over a year. I was too afraid to tell my own father, or even my childhood best friend. She took the news in stride and told me she’d love me no matter whose life I chose to make a living hell. I shaved my head completely clean when I was 7. And 9. And 13. She was there. When I was suspended in grammar school, she was there. Junior high, she was there. When I was expelled from high school, she was there. That early morning in the fall of 2001, when I would be sent away to boarding school, she was there. “We just want you to get better, Sar.” I didn’t. I raised hell, and was sent back home. When I was arrested for the first time, she was there. Then, my mother suggested I see a therapist. Of course, I did. He diagnosed me all types of fucked up and crazy, but again, my mom was there. When I went through my drug addiction, she was there. Went away to college, she was there. Graduated from college, she was there. She was there when I landed and was fired from my first job. Ali and I told her the sudden news that we’d be moving to Spain, and once again, she was simply there for me. For us. Ali was her daughter, too. She cared for my best friend like he were her son (she absolutely adored you, Erik), took in a pregnant teen girl who had been kicked out of her house, and did more for my friends in the summer and fall of 2008 than I’ve done for them in a lifetime. When she and my father divorced earlier this year, she let me know that she still loved my father greatly. It made me feel worlds better, and I know she knew telling me that would, mainly because she meant it.
My father told me that my mother didn’t tell me about her cancer because she didn’t want me to fret. He’s right; I surely would’ve fretted. Then again, I don’t think I would have. I think we would’ve joked about it. I probably would’ve bought her a tee that reads, “I Have Cancer And All I Got Was This Stupid Fucking Shirt”. We would have laughed about it. Then, we would have cried. Then laughed uncontrollably, and proceeded that with a bawling session like no one has ever seen. I would have hugged, kissed, and pinched the shit out of my mother to the very end. However, I am grateful that she did not put the burden of her dying body on me. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to live, myself. Lord knows I’ve seriously contemplated suicide about 5,192 times without knowing that my mother was slowly dying. I know I couldn’t have brought myself to even steal a glance of her on her deathbed, or knowing her, on her deathcouch. The feeling I have at the current moment is the shittiest feeling I’ve ever had, and I’ve gone through heroin withdrawals.
My best friend lost his mother in October of 2005, and he said the heartache he felt scared him. He thought he was going to die, his heart hurt so much. The tears came, as well. And they didn’t stop, either. They just flowed until he felt like shedding another tear would kill him. I’ve stopped crying long enough to write this post, but as soon as I finish, I will curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep. I will awake and eat to provide myself with just enough sustenance so that I can resume crying my soul away. This is what I want, for now. This is all I need, for now. My father is here. Ali is here. Erik is here, and so are Martina and the rest of the gang. But, they’re not Stacy Scott-Green. Fuck. No one is.
Mom, you’ve truly been here for me through thick and thin, and just because you’ve departed this piece of shit planet doesn’t mean that I have left, or will ever leave your side. I will miss you forever and a day, Stacy Scott-Green.

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