It’s been ten years since you left us, but let’s call it as it is; your sudden death at just 32 years old. A lot has happened in that decade. The selfie stick arrived just weeks after you died and I can’t look at one without thinking how useful it would have been for extending the length or your petite arms to take selfies with your numerous friends and admirers. Your favourite social media platform Twitter has become a swamp but you’d probably be on BlueSky now with a million followers. And my daughter Stella, who spoke so eloquently at your memorial, stuck with her horse riding and became a Paralympian this year. I know she misses you a lot as she’s grown up. She and other young disabled people have so many questions you could have answered for them.
More important than the things you’ve missed over the years however, are the thing we have missed by not having you in our lives for longer. I’m sure you would have been named Australian of the Year by now and you would have been a huge international comedy sensation, travelling the world with your unique view of society and razor-sharp wit. During COVID you probably would have managed to write that book you were supposedly working on, or maybe a young adult novel as well as a memoir. But you’re not here, even though the work you did in your all too short life has lived on, especially in your disability community. You’re hit in Italy and France and of course disabled people in the US remember your time there and your wonderful TED talk that introduced the idea of inspiration porn to the world. They love you in the UK and Canada too.
I had hoped to share a major documentary about your life and ongoing influence to mark ten years since you died, but funding for quality documentaries is harder than ever to secure. I hope to get it made one day soon, but it could take years because cultural projects about disabled women are not a priority it seems.
The disability community loses its bright lights so much quicker than other communities, and over this decade too many of your disabled friends have gone too. I imagine you all hanging out in some other universe, debating ideas and watching in horror as the NDIS retreats from its original vision. I meet young people who know about you but don’t really know you. They need to hear your amazing story of how you took on the world with your writing, comedy performances and commentary. So often the wittiest person in the room be it a State Library room or the gigantic Twitter room.
Stella Young, your spirit lives on in the hearts and minds of those who knew and loved you. We are many and we keep your light burning. Ten years has gone by in the blink of an eye, while there’s so much more you could have done had we had you with us for longer.
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