I'm sitting here at my desk with six pages of handwritten notes in my lap, and yet I have no idea where to begin.  This was it.  This was the last episode of a show I have loved and hated and screamed at and cried at and fangirled over for going on three years now.  This was a show that meant so much more to me than campy scripts, whooshy arrow sound effects, anachronistic clothing, and Richard Armitage's pretty face.  It meant sitting down with friends and snacks and drinks on a Saturday afternoon with the remote control firmly in hand so that we could pause and rant and make wisecracks.  It meant getting to see what craziness was going to happen this week.  On occasion, it meant having my breath knocked out of me because it was wonderfully, terribly good. It meant getting to see characters I loved like they were members of my family.  It meant Guy. And Allan. And Robin. (Yes, I loved him even when he was an ass.) And dear, sweet Much.  And Little John. And even Tuck and Kate. (Someone close to me loves Kate the way I love Guy and Allan... and it has made it difficult for me to hate her as much as I might have otherwise.)  In seasons past, it meant Marian and Djaq and Will.  It meant Isabella's unstable morality, the Sheriff's camp, and the possibility of Prince John's SUPER-CAMP. It meant getting online after the episode and reacting and debating and crying and squeeing with the most understanding, intelligent, talented fellow fans I could have asked for.

And even when the writers didn't treat the characters well, they were still my people.  And I loved them much more than reason might have dictated. 

( So, here they are… my thoughts on The Finale. Part review, part tribute, overly-personal, and only-somewhat-analytical. Spoilers abound. )