May 7, 2003

The sun was coming over the horizon making the darkened sky give way from deep blue to crimson. Another perfect southern California day was dawning, and Willow hated the universe for it. This day should be cloudy and the sky should be drizzling rain like tears, but it wasn't. She glanced down at the yahrzeit candle sitting on the windowsill. She had lit it the night before, on the eve on this day. One year had passed since she lost the other half of her soul and the yahrzeit candle would continue burning throughout the entire day to commemorate the anniversary.

“Willow?” Buffy asked as she made her way across the living room and stopped behind her best friend. “What are you doing up so early?” She noticed that Willow was already dressed in her formal outfit, the one she had taken three weeks to pick out.

“Hey,” Willow turned and tried for a smile, but only managed to lift one corner of her lips. Willow's smile had not reached her eyes in 365 days.

“Willow?” Buffy asked gently.

“I have to go to the…” Willow froze. She still couldn't say the word cemetery, not when she was talking about Tara, not when she was talking about visiting Tara's grave. She could talk about vampires and crypts and cemeteries all day long, but not when it involved the love of her life. “I have to go again, before well, you know, with the thing…” Tears filled her eyes as she considered what the day held.

“The sun's not up yet,” Buffy cautioned. “There could be nasties lurking.”

“Hence me waiting here,” Willow said with a half-hearted smile. Everything Willow did was half-hearted since losing Tara. “For the sun to come up, and the nasties to go back to wherever it is they go.”

“You want me to go with you?” Buffy offered.

Willow shook her head. So much of her life with Tara had been private, something treasured, not shared with anyone. It didn't seem right to share this either.

“Okay,” Buffy agreed.

*****

Willow finished her prayer silently as she knelt over Tara's grave. One year. One year had passed and every day Willow had said the Kaddish for her lover. One year, 365 days she had recited the prayer for the dead. Tara was dead. The tears came in a torrent, emotion flooding Willow like a choking tidal wave. She ran her hand over the neatly trimmed grass and allowed her grief to flow freely. The tears had lessened after the first seven months, but lately, the last month, the tears had gotten worse each day. It was time to let Tara go.

“Okay, so I know this is the day,” Willow said when she composed herself enough to speak. She picked at the grass, much like she had once done to Tara's beautiful blonde hair. “This is the sending you on to heaven and we should be happy because your soul gets to move on day.” Hebrew tradition described that a soul stayed on earth for a year after the end of a life, and once that time passed, the soul would move on to heaven.

Willow felt tears filling her eyes again. “But, see, here's the deal.” She glanced at the covered headstone a few feet away. “I'm not ready for you to move on. I know, that's selfish, but you moving on means you leaving me, and that's just not something I'm ready for. This is me being selfish girl, but if that means I get to keep you, then just crown me queen of the selfish lesbians right now and be done with it.” She let out a slow sigh. “So, now I just have to explain to Mister Miller that he needs to take that … take that … thing right back where he got it.” She waved a hand at the covered granite headstone.

A gentle breeze kissed Willow's skin and she took a shuddering breath. This happened often when she was here at Tara's grave in the chilly morning. There wasn't supposed to be any warm breeze when the morning was crisp and the sun hadn't yet warmed the air. The breeze wasn't supposed to warm Willow's skin, warm her deep within, but it did. It always did when she was at her lowest, and Willow knew exactly what warmed the air, exactly who warmed the air so it could offer comfort loving arms had once given freely.

“Tara, I can't do this.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, wanting to keep the touch of the warmed air against her skin. “I know you need to move on and see your mom and do all the things that you need to do.” She sniffled. “Damn it, Tara. I know all that.” She stood and paced, her feet somehow never leaving the rectangular area that covered Tara. “I don't want you to move on. I don't want to move on,” she yelled.

Buffy had suggestion that it was time for Willow to start dating, and that fight had almost ended with Willow moving out.

“So, here's what I'm gonna do,” Willow said as she continued pacing. “I'll do the unveiling. I'll say the words, but I will not let you go. You are staying right here.” She pounded on her chest. “You are in my heart, and I am not letting you go,” she decreed. “End of discussion.” She paused and looked down at the grass under her feet. “No arguments. Sorry. I'm just not gonna do it. You can move on after I die and then I'll help you catch up on any of the ghosty chores you get behind on and then we can hang out here while I do my year and then we'll just be together.” She smiled and nodded, considering the topic closed.

The warm breeze brushed past Willow again, this time swirling around the redhead for a few seconds.

“Damn it, Tara, no,” Willow said as the tears returned. “Don't take that breezy tone with me. You, with the airy hugs, and the leaves moving over the grass and the warm goose bumps on my arms. No. Tara, no.”

Warmth filled Willow's senses and she realized she wasn't going to be able to stay angry while she was being overwhelmed with a sense of complete love and devotion.

“Well, okay then.” Willow sniffled and sat on the grass next to the covered headstone. “Just as long as we're clear on the whole me not letting you go thing.” She pulled a package of Kleenex out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “This will get easier, right?” she asked as she rested her hand on the chilled grass. “Yeah, I didn't think so,” she whispered.

***** At ten minutes to eleven that morning, Xander pulled up in front of the cemetery. This was definitely somewhere he did not want to be, but he knew he couldn't be anywhere else.

“We're going to be late,” Dawn whined.

“We're not gonna be late,” Xander said as he tugged at his tie. “We have ten minutes.”

“We should have been here earlier,” Dawn insisted. “We should have helped her set up.”

“Is there food?” Buffy asked. “Is this a food deal? Should we have brought food like the reception for mom's funeral?”

“No food,” Anya said as she opened her door. “What with Willow fasting today, that would be rude.” She glared at the others, angry that the same people who always pointed out her social errors seemed so inept when dealing with Willow's grief. She stood and slammed the door closed, then leaned on top of the car.

“I can't believe Anya just called us rude,” Xander complained.

“I can't believe she was right,” Buffy said quietly. She nodded toward the sloping grass knoll where they were heading. “We should go,” she added quietly. She climbed out of the car and held the door as Dawn followed.

“She's not getting any better,” Dawn whispered.

“Sure she is,” Buffy argued.

“It's been a year, and she still looks … broken,” Dawn whispered. “How long is she gonna look broken?” She shivered, even though the sun had already begun warming the air.

“She'll be fine,” Buffy said. “After today, she'll let Tara go, and then it'll get better. I swear.”

“It's all good from here,” Xander added as he slammed his door closed. “What with the letting go, the moving on, and then Willow we be back to our happy, babbling, perky Willster.”

“You're an ass,” Anya said in a bored tone. “That kind of break doesn't heal.”

“Hey,” Xander whined. “I am not an ass. Remember me? Mister chauffeur guy? The guy who picked you up and drove you here?”

“Yes, I remember,” Anya raised one eyebrow. “The one who didn't drive me home the day he left me at the altar?”

Dawn smirked. At least some things never changed.

“Guys, can we focus?” Buffy asked. She shook her head and tried not to smile. Xander seemed to step into it at every turn.

“Yes, focus,” Anya said. “We need to go watch Willow pretend she hasn't been ripped in two.” She cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “And not literally,” she added quickly. “I'm talking about her heart, not her actually ripping in half like she did to that bastard.” She crinkled her brows. “Though, she actually skinned him more than split him in two…”

“Anya!” Buffy interrupted. “Focus?”

“What? I'm focused.” Anya folded both arms over her chest.

“Rules?” Buffy asked.

Anya sighed petulantly. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Rule one, no mentioning of the fact that Tara is actually dead. Two, no mentioning of War- Um, that rat bastard who made her that way, and three, no mentioning of any form of torture, maiming, killing, cursing, or disemboweling.” She glared at Buffy. “And just for the record, disemboweling should fall under both torture and maiming. It's redundant.”

“Whatever, just don't mention it,” Buffy grabbed Dawn and headed up the small hill toward the top of the cemetery.

*****

“Hey, guys,” Willow said as soon as she saw her friends approach. She moved away from the covered headstone and tried to smile.

“Hey, Will,” Buffy hugged her best friend, holding her close, then backed away. She took one of Willow's hands and cradled it between both of hers.

“So, is there gonna be a Rabbi?” Anya asked.

Buffy, Dawn, and Xander glared at the former demon.

“What?” Anya whined. “I didn't mention anything on the list.”

“No Rabbi,” Willow said with sad smile. “Tara wasn't Jewish.” She didn't mind Anya's questions. After Joyce's death, Willow had learned that Anya asked questions to come to grips with her own emotions.

Anya tilted her head to one side. “So, why have you been doing the prayer for the dea- uh, the prayer every day?” She almost turned to Buffy and pointed out how skillfully she had avoided using the word 'dead.'

“Because…” Willow gave Anya her full attention. “I'm Jewish. It helps. It gives me a sense of consistency.”

Anya nodded and looked down at the ground. There was no consistency since Tara's death. She had been the glue that held their group together, the one who reminded everyone else just what they were fighting for. Tara was good, and light, and honest, and humble. She was everything Anya respected about humans, yet saw so infrequently. Since Tara's death, everyone seemed to have lost their moral compass, and Anya knew if she could see the way they were all moving out of the light, it must be bad.

“Okay, so, let's get started.” Willow moved to the headstone and then bit her lip. She started to lean against it, then backed away. The cold stone was a solid, indisputable reminder of all she had lost. “So, I'm kinda' winging it here. Just bear with me.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket.

“Were we supposed to bring speeches?” Anya whispered to Buffy. “Why wasn't I told, damn it?”

“Shh,” Buffy said harshly.

Willow took pity on Anya and her other friends. “I'm gonna read a few psalms, and then we can have a short moment of silence while I go over the Kaddish in my head. Then I'll uncover … uh, well, uncover it.” She nodded at the headstone.

“I thought there had to be a minivan for the Kaddish?” Buffy asked.

Willow gave Buffy a baffled look.

“I googled it,” Buffy whined. “It said we need a minivan for a Kaddish.”

Willow leaned slightly forward, looking even more confused.

“The minivan,” Buffy said in a flustered tone. “The minivan to carry the ten Jewish guys?”

Willow giggled and covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyes crinkled and she snorted. “Minyan,” Willow corrected. “God, Buffy, I love ya.” She shook her head. “And we would need a Minyan, a quorum of ten adult male Jews, if the Kaddish was gonna be read. That's why I'm doing it in my head.”

“Which is the last place we'd find ten men,” Anya pointed out.

Xander glared at Anya.

“Well, it is,” Anya protested.

“She's got a point.” Willow said. She cleared her throat. “Okay, so, back to the thing with the thing.” She unfolded the paper in her hand, her temporary mirth fading away.

The service was short, and somber. Willow didn't mention death, or how much she desperately missed Tara, or that she would never truly let her lover go. She went through the steps and uncovered the unpretentious headstone, but the simple act of removing the fabric was too much.

Willow bit her lip and closed her eyes and tears ran down both cheeks. She inhaled deeply, trying to stop her nose from running and trying to gather her strength. Neither effort was completely successful. She used her tissue to wipe her eyes and her nose and tried to lighten the mood. “Okay, so, I don't have a red ribbon to cut, so I guess we're done.” She reached into her pocket and took out a small stone and placed it on the headstone. “I love you, baby,” she whispered. Her hand shook as she touched the cold granite. She took a step back and studied the simple inscription.

Tara Maclay
1980 - 2002
Friend, confidant, and one woman's everything.

It wasn't true to Jewish tradition, written in English, but Willow had already established that her love for Tara didn't fit neatly into any one world.

Willow was silent as Buffy, Dawn, Xander, and Anya each went to the headstone and placed a stone on top of it. She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping the physical pain would anchor her long enough for the final bit of ritual. As soon as the last stone was in place, Willow turned and hurried away.

“Let her go,” Buffy said as she grabbed Dawn's arm. “We'll wait at home.” She knew Willow had walked over, and she also knew that her friend still needed some time alone.

“You know, if that bastard we aren't mentioning wasn't already that thing we aren't mentioning, I'd do that other thing we aren't mentioning to him.” Anya's eyes were locked on the headstone.

“I know who the bastard is, but she lost me with the rest of it,” Xander said. He watched Willow as she stumbled across the cemetery and finally sagged against a small tree.

“She means if that bastard wasn't already dead, she'd disembowel him,” Dawn translated.

Xander smiled fondly at his former girlfriend. For once he agreed with her.

Willow stood under the tree for almost an hour. She heard Xander's car start and then leave, and then she listened to the silence of the cemetery. She took the paper out of her pocket and reread the psalms, taking comfort in the familiar words, but her heart ached at the thought that Tara had moved on.

A breeze stirred the air around her, then warmed her skin. She felt it deep in her chest, filling her with love and peace. A smile crossed Willow's lips. It suddenly occurred to her that Tara's soul was free to move on, free to go wherever she wanted. Apparently, Tara was already where she wanted to be, at Willow's side and in her heart.