I was fourteen and still coming to terms with my sexuality when I started watching Buffy. I lived in the south, in a super-conservative area, and there were no gay people in my life, much less lesbian couples. Seeing Willow and Tara was my lifeline when I felt alone. With all the passion fourteen year olds have, I loved Tara. I wanted to be Tara. I identified with Tara on the deepest level I knew possible.

I cried more when Tara died than I did over the deaths of some people I knew in real life. I was a wreck. My parents knew something was wrong, but I couldn't explain what in a way that they would understand.

Tara was my hope as a kid. She was good and happy and gay all at the same time, and up until then, I hadn't known if that was possible. So when she died so suddenly after a reconciliation I'd been so happy about... I just felt lost.

I don't know if it's what you're talking about when you talk about mourning rituals, but I drew art and printed off pictures and quotes and had a miniature... I don't know, "shrine," I guess, for Tara for quite some time. Like I could keep her alive, for me at least, by doing that.

That's my fannish mourning experience. It grew me, I guess. It pushed me to accept myself for me, not me-as-Tara. It doesn't hurt like that anymore, or for a long time. But it did, and it was really hard.