Second Glances with Arabella

In the expansive digital world of Second Life, avatars are more than pixels arranged on a screen—they are extensions of identity, vessels of creativity, and bridges to human connection. When an avatar’s life ends, whether through the passing of its human behind the screen or a chosen departure from the virtual landscape, the loss can reverberate through communities with surprising depth and sincerity. For many, this kind of grief is difficult to explain to those outside the virtual world, yet it is as real—and often as profound—as grieving someone in the physical realm. I really wanted to touch on this because it isn’t something most of us write about, or even talk about a lot, yet it is something that happens and that most residents of SL who stay here long enough will eventually experience – and it isn’t easy.

Earlier this week, my home community of Scotland in Second Life lost not only one of our pioneering members, but also our oldest one at 84 years of age. To say we have all been profoundly impacted would be an understatement, and while I haven’t known him nearly as long as many in our community, I feel that loss just as keenly as I would losing someone I had known in the real world.

The passing of Taro Firanelli last week after a series of physical setbacks and illnesses might not impact the virtual world in a hugely significant way, but for us and our community, his loss is is tremendous, his absence is noticeable and his friendship is sorely missed. Thinking about this, I realized that in talking about Taro and his meaning to us, I could also talk a little about loss in this world and how it can affect us as strongly as it does in the real world.

The Emotional Reality of a Virtual Identity

To people unfamiliar with virtual worlds, the idea of mourning an avatar may seem intangible, even trivial. But within Second Life, avatars represent years of time, energy, and emotional investment. They are the mediums through which friendships are forged, love is explored, and creative dreams are realized. Behind each avatar is a real person who has shaped that digital form with their personality, humor, kindness, quirks, and presence – as well as their frailties, foibles and even bad habits at times.

So when an avatar disappears—especially due to the death of the human being who they represent—it feels like losing a part of that person. In Taro’s case, it was not a symbolic loss; it was the loss of the way he made us laugh in local chat, how he danced at Friday parties, Saturday shindigs and Sunday ceilidhs, the incredible sim he crafted, the photography he shared, the small gestures that stitched him into the fabric of the community, the countless costumes and outfits he had, the musical instruments he deftly deployed and so much more. Avatars like Taro are conduits of genuine connection, and their absence leaves a very real void.

Community Mourning in a Virtual World

Communities in Second Life have their own customs for dealing with loss, honoring the dead, and supporting the grieving. Memorial gardens spring up on private estates. Galleries dedicate walls to beloved friends. Clubs hold tribute events where music and memories are shared. Some regions keep a permanent memorial space—a quiet grove, a shoreline, or a chapel—where avatars can return to remember and reflect.

Within our own community, the Cathedral of Dornoch—one of our many churches—houses a quiet memorial chapel where commemorative plaques bear the names of those who have departed both worlds. Each plaque is illuminated by a small candle that burns perpetually in their honor. Outside, in the churchyard, a peaceful cemetery holds monuments to other friends cherished by the cathedral’s creator, ensuring that their lives, too, are remembered by those who pass through. Memorials to both friends and community members also exist at the Old High Church, the stage at Brody Castle and other special locations.

What is perhaps most powerful is the collective nature of this grief. In a virtual world filled with people from across the globe, grief becomes a shared experience that transcends borders and time zones. Friends who never met in the physical world gather together as avatars to comfort one another, creating a sense of unity that is deeply human.

Just like the real life world, these in-word rituals matter. They give form to grief and validate emotions that are often dismissed by the outside world. Second Life communities understand that mourning an avatar is mourning a person—just through a different lens.

When we learned of Taro’s death, many of us gathered at our local pub, Nessie’s Neuk, to support each other, tell stories and speak of the ways he mattered to us, acknowledging that our community was going to be a different place without him in it. Our DJ played songs we knew he liked, we raised virtual toasts to celebrate his 17 years in Second Life, and we marveled at his 84 years of life in the real world. Many who had met him in RL at planned meetups over the years shared additional stories of their experiences getting to know the man behind the avatar, who travelled from his home country of Germany over the channel to experience Scotland in the real world.

Our leaders wasted no time in planning a memorial service to be held in his honor, followed by a wake where everyone can gather and talk. These rituals, for us at least, are necessary and needed, not just because his life needs to be celebrated, but because our grief and sadness needs someplace to go, and as we honor him, we support each other. This is just one way that acknowledging a death in Second Life can be expressed and there are many more ways this takes place in communities all over the grid.

Why an Avatar’s Life Matters

For me, personally, an avatar’s life matters because it represents presence. It is the manifestation of someone’s imagination, personality, and time. In a world where many struggle with isolation, disability, or social barriers, Second Life is a lifeline—a place where people can connect, express themselves, and build meaningful relationships.

For some residents, their avatar is the truest version of themselves. For others, it’s a role they inhabit to explore creativity or offer solace. But for all, the avatar is an identity that carries emotional significance. When that identity disappears, a chapter of someone’s life ends—not just digitally, but personally.

Second Life blurs the line between the physical and the virtual in ways that many outsiders struggle to appreciate. The emotions, however, are not virtual; they are real, felt by real people, and shaped by real relationships. Every person that I have lost in my time on the grid, from Taro back to the very first one, was very real to me, and their loss was and is strongly felt, some of them now many years after their lives ended.

Honoring the Legacy Left Behind

The legacy of a departed avatar doesn’t vanish with their account. It lives on in the builds they created, the friendships they nurtured, the groups they supported, and the memories shared in IMs and chat logs. Sometimes their land remains untouched for years, preserved by friends as a living remembrance. Sometimes their creations continue to be used or visited, serving as quiet tributes to the person who brought them into being. If you are like me, pictures are a strong connection to friends and loved ones in the virtual world, and Taro was a frequent subject of my lens. Because of that, because of his friendship, because of his impact, he will live on for me and others as long as we are here to remember him.

Loss in Second Life reminds us that behind every avatar stands a story—often fragile, always meaningful. And because of that, the death of an avatar resonates across the grid, embedded in the lives of those who remain. A single pebble, tossed in a pond, can ripple to the furthest shore just like a mighty rock, and while the impact might not be as great, it still touches so much.

Closing Thoughts

Grieving an avatar is not about mourning a set of pixels; it is about mourning the person who animated them, the joy they brought, and the spaces they filled. In Second Life, as in the physical world, relationships are built on shared experiences, trust, humor, and affection. When an avatar is gone, the community feels that absence in the same way any community feels the loss of one of its own.

In that sense, an avatar’s life is just as important as any life we encounter. It is an expression of humanity, creativity, and connection—and its loss is worthy of acknowledgement, remembrance, and care.

Taro Firanelli and the man behind him was a person and a presence, a soul and a conscience, an influence and an impact, a father and a friend. To us he was so much, and much there is to say about him, but I’m not the one who should be doing all the talking. The depth of feeling for Taro is best expressed by those who knew him best and loved him. I’m going to share their memories of him below mine.

“For me I can’t imagine how different things will be without Taro in our lives. His passing in recent days reminds me of how special, yet fleeting life can be in the virtual world. My fondest memories of him will be moments like these, group dancing at Nessie’s Neuk and enjoying his wit and humor. 84 years old, remarkably adept at everything in Second Life, a truly amazing and inspiring human being. Thank you for being an amazing friend, for encouraging me to get a musical instrument (and then sending me where I needed to go and find them!) and making sure I was being a participant and not just a spectator”. ~ Arabella Windsor of Scotland.

“What can I say about Taro? He came here to the Highlands of Scotland just over 17 years ago to play the Nessie Hunt, which was an in-world game based around the Mystery of Nessie. Taro was more than just a regular visitor, he became one of the mainstay members of our Community. The helpful big brother, sharing knowledge and experience with others. He was humourous, caring, helpful, enthusiastic – especially in our Tribute Bands.He loved our Real Life Meetings and, up to 2023, never missed anything planned. He will be sorely missed.” ~ Lauraclaire Benelli and Elizabeth Beaumont, CEO and Co-Owner of Scotland

“My very favourite memory of Taro was in real life when we all first met as a group. We were entertained that when he was told something, Taro would often respond with, “Ah So!”. Ian remarked to the amusement of all of us that it was perhaps best that Taro didn’t continually sound as if he were calling people an “Asshole!”. Taro said he would endeavour to be more careful in his pronunciation. He then leaned closer to me and quietly said in my ear, “now I know I can get away with this, I shall make it sound more like Asshole in future!” and then he laughed”. ~ Magnus Brody, Co-Owner of Scotland

“Taro was one of the first people I met when I arrived in the Highlands of Scotland in September of 2014. At that time I didn’t know what everyone’s function was there but I sensed he was pretty important because he knew everything going on and I thought he must be in senior management. I came to learn over time that he was much more than that though…he was a gentleman, a historian, a fount of endless knowledge, a singular wit, a musical aficionado, a quick change artist, a technophile and, most importantly, a friend to anyone and everyone. Born during the Second World War, he embraced computing from an early age, which I think was largely why Second Life was easy for him to navigate and I think it truly enriched his later years by offering him the chance to meet others, to enjoy music and to socialise both in world and in the real world with those he called his close friends. Over his 17 years in the virtual world, he was a singular star that shone very brightly, and if the Highlands is a family, then Taro was part of our immediate family, a treasured and respected elder who gave so much of himself to enrich all of our lives. I appreciate the friendship of Taro over the past eleven years, knowing that I have had the opportunity to experience that rarest of souls in both worlds and to be better because of him”. ~ Ethan Westland Belmonte, Co-Owner of Scotland

“We were travelling up to the Loch Ness Inn, we had picked him up at Stirling railway station. On the way he said, “Ah the capitalist Loch.” We were passing Loch Earn! Liz and I had a wonderful day in Bruges with him. We drank real hot chocolate in the square, had a fantastic meal; he really did love good food, and had a ride in a Horse drawn carriage. When he was 78, he climbed Jacobs ladder in Scotland with Shinai. It is 285 steps”. ~ Ian Beaumont of Scotland

“I was lucky enough to have the honour of meeting Taro several times in RL; he was like an older uncle who was cool enough to hang out with. His knowledge, intelligence, and life experiences were unboundless and he was an easy man to talk to. His stories were always succinct, accurate, and humorous and he’s the only man I’ve ever met who could make a joke in English funny by using German words. What struck me the most about Taro was his kindness and patience-I have never seen him get angry or lose his temper and he could cope with, or diffuse, any situation. He was the type of person I aspire to be and he will be sorely missed!” ~ Axaria Belmonte of Scotland

“I’m not sure ‘he’s made me cry every day since’ makes for a good article… but okay bite the bullet for Taro gladly [not to forget Fisco, his brother] ~ Bondette Brody of Scotland

“My memories of Taro begin with his warm welcome when I found Scotland in SL. He was so polite and gentlemanly. His love of music and always looking for more songs and information on singers or groups that he learned about. He always shared his new knowledge and new favorites with all of us. He also loved to read up on historical figures and events. He never stopped learning and caring for all of us. He is irreplaceable. One of a kind in SL and RL”. ~ Ginger Piper Throgmorton of Scotland

“My memory of him is that he was always engaging and quick to say hello whether it was church on Sunday or the ceilidh at Nessie’s”. ~ Iliana Evergreen of Scotland

“It’s hard to know what to say really, words never quite seem adequate. He and I played together in the Sunday Ceilidh band for a time when it was still known as Reel Ness. I think it was pretty much his idea for the band uniform, a kilt, caubeen (the red t-shirt). He was just such a thoroughly nice person, one of the few that you can’t think of anything bad about”. ~ Jeanie Deans of Scotland

He was all that, and more.

~ Arabella

Post Notes: Memorial at Dornoch Cathedral: http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Dornoch/96/103/27

Service for Taro Firanelli