PORT ST. LUCIE — Shannon Forde was an angel.

I hate that I wrote that sentence in the past tense. I cried while I wrote it.

I hate that I had too much damn time to think about how I wanted to begin this column or tribute or obituary or whatever the hell you call this thing. I had too much damn time because Stage IV breast cancer invaded Shannon’s body in August 2012 and just would not let go, just would not stop going to new places in her body. No matter how she fought. And, boy, did she fight.

I could have offered an anecdote or quotes from people in and around the Mets. But this felt like a moment to get right to the point and the point is that Shannon was an angel, and the world is left worse when we lose one of those.

Shannon Forde died Friday night. She was 44. She had two young children. She had a catalogue of friends too long to list, but just the right amount for someone as beautiful in spirit as she was. Unfortunately, goodwill and good thoughts cannot beat cancer or else Shannon would have been rid of the disease in 15 minutes.

By title, she was the Mets’ senior director of media relations. She had been with the team for more than two decades. And she was much bigger than the title or the team.

I will let you in on a dirty little secret: Baseball is a high-stress, sharp-elbowed business. And though it is sports and maybe you cannot see this because it has a game attached to it, it is just like any other high-stress, sharp-elbowed industry, which is to say it is infested by many folks who would do just about anything to retain their jobs, or improve their jobs or destroy their competitors inside or outside their organization.

The amount of lying and deceit and bottom-feeding and malfeasance observed during the course of a season would make the current race to be the Republican presidential nominee appear as tame as nap time in kindergarten.

And I tell you this because there were so many seasons in the past 20 years when the vibe at Shea Stadium or Citi Field was knife-in-the-back wretched. Often the only person that brought the franchise humanity was Shannon Dalton, who became Shannon Forde, but always would be an angel by any name.

She was honest and cheery and kind and just the sight of her made a trip to the park better. You will find a unicorn before you find a person who had a bad word to say about her. On the worst days, she was the best — just like on the best days.

And it was something even the cancer never could rob. It was as if the Mets’ playoff run last October brought her renewed energy. She actually went on the road during the World Series and was at the home games. She was gaunt and tired and her hair, well, who gives a darn about the appearance. She was Shannon, regardless of the exterior.

During Game 3, I stood and talked to her for a few innings in the back of the press box at Citi because I would rather talk to her than watch the World Series. She looked like what she looked like and felt like what she felt like and the conversation began with her asking how me and my boys were doing. I cried when I wrote that, too. That was her. That was why the loyalty swelled up around her with her closest pals and then a whole army of people like me who were part of the extended fan club of a human who handled this with such grace.

To see her at the World Series was to con yourself that she could beat the disease. Because that is what we wanted for an angel. But in the past few weeks, word had circulated among her network that the cancer had spread to her brain and that the fight nearly was done.

She lived nobly in ridiculous pain and heartache. I watched, inspired, and yet knew I would have crumbled where she stood tall.

I try to honor her here, but know I will not truly find the words to describe her decency or fortitude. I try to honor her here, but don’t want to finish this column or tribute or obituary or whatever hell it is because then it does feel more like the end. Yep, I just cried again.