There are times when Brenda Sullivan worries that her brother has been forgotten — that Gary Sullivan, who was 28 when he was murdered in 1989, is becoming a more and more distant memory each year. But Sunday in Aberdeen, some 200 people, friends and relatives of those whose lives ended at the hands of another, showed up to assure her she needn't worry.
The occasion was an annual memorial service for crime victims and their families. Held in locations throughout Maryland, the ceremonies simultaneously invoke the names of those who have died under such tragic circumstances and express support for the loved ones they left behind.
"It's important that they're remembered, not forgotten, that we're not the only ones with memories," said Sullivan, 59, who lives in Havre de Grace. "It's important to know that the community supports it and remembers it."
Cheryl Winstead could relate. Her grandson, Andre Evans, was 21 when he was murdered in Baltimore's Reservoir Hill neighborhood in May 2013. She, too, took comfort Sunday in being surrounded by strangers who could understand her continuing grief.
"It's like a celebration of his life," Winstead, 60, said. "Lots of times, people pass away, and then they don't talk about them anymore. But this is something they have every year, and I love it."
This marks the 26th year for the memorials, sponsored by the Maryland State Board of Victim Services, which serve as a kickoff for National Federal Crime Victims' Rights Week.
Although the list stretches back decades, it is not exhaustive. Instead, it includes those whose families or friends have contacted the Maryland group and asked that they be put there.
"This was very touching for me," said Sue Wiles of Belcamp, whose daughter, Sheri Corey, was 32 when she was killed by a drunken driver in 2008. "Her name being there, it meant a lot to me, that she's being recognized as a victim."
The Aberdeen service included remarks from Harford County State's Attorney Joseph Cassilly, who assured those assembled in the Aberdeen High School auditorium that "today is your day, to celebrate the memory of your loved one."
But if the mood was celebratory, it was a somber celebration. As people entered the school, they were greeted by a table containing photographs of some of the victims brought to the service by their friends and families. A teenager identified only as "Darius" smiled up from one picture, looking proud in his white tuxedo. Matthew Thomas was there, holding a trophy, beaming. Ross Jones, wearing a blue-and-white baseball cap, smiled confidently at the camera. India Dannella Chapple, 26 when she died, smiled coyly.
Later, the names of more than 1,500 victims were projected onto a screen, as the Aberdeen High School Choir sang softly from behind it. Fourteen names were projected at a time. Throughout the auditorium, family members and friends held their cell phones aloft, ready to snap a picture when their loved one's name appeared.
Everett Jones, 32, had come because his girlfriend knew one of the victims whose name was to be on the list. What he didn't realize until he looked closely at the service's program was that his brother's name was there, too. Dion Jones was 35* when he was murdered in 2009.
"It was kind of special," Jones admitted. "I think it's nice to get people together and have people honoring the ones who have passed away. We've kind of gone on with our lives, but it's nice to think back and be with all your loved ones, to celebrate those we have lost."
Nice, yes, agreed Sullivan. But there's only so much even the sincerest show of support can accomplish.
"Everybody says life moves on and time heals all wounds, but it doesn't," she said. "You just take it and put it up on the shelf, and deal with it each time it comes up.
"That's how you live with it," she added. "Or at least how we do."
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(A previous version incorrectly stated Dion Jones' age.)