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‘I believe that when we leave a place, part of it goes with us and part of us remains. Go anywhere here when it is quiet, and just listen. After a while, you will hear the echoes of all our conversations, every thought and word we’ve exchanged. Long after we are gone, our voices will linger in these walls.’

Yes, that’s a modified quote from G’Kar from Babylon 5, and there are few better I could think of to sum up looking back on the fact that it is a year to the day since Alan Bligh passed away. It has been a strange year without him, one in which his presence, by absence, has been vast.

I can’t, and don’t want to, say much about that, other than his friends still miss him and the world is grey in places where once it was bright.

But he persists in the memory of all who knew him, and in those touched by his work. That is important. That matters.

For those of you that knew him in person, hold to the memories. And for those who knew him through his work, well… when you role a handful of dice to bring a Titan down, or read his words, or play something that he designed, remember the hand that wrote them and the mind that shaped them.

Remember him.

More than anything, that is the reason I wanted to write this. It is not something he would have expected, I know. In his own way, he would not have thought himself memorable.

But he was, and is.

And that matters.

Some of the dedications made to Alan: