The flicker of hundreds of candles lit up downtown Fort Wayne on Monday night as families gathered to remember loved ones lost to homicide — a solemn tradition that brings light to some of the darkest corners of the human experience.

As part of National Crime Victims’ Rights Week, the Fort Wayne Police Department and Victims’ Assistance hosted their annual Candlelight Vigil, a now-cherished event for those mourning violent losses. The night was quiet, reflective, but far from lonely.

A Night to Grieve, Remember — and Connect

Under the soft orange glow of streetlights and candle flames, families stood shoulder to shoulder in quiet solidarity. Some held framed photos close. Others clutched flowers or wiped tears that fell without warning.

Kristy Lindeman, Director of Victims’ Assistance, said the vigil isn’t just about remembrance. It’s about being seen.

“There are other people who are going through this as well,” she said. “It reminds them they’re not alone.”

The crowd was thick with emotion. Strangers became friends. Stories were swapped — not all of them sad. Some laughter broke through the hush. And for a few brief moments, grief turned into something else. Something gentler.

An Annual Tradition with Deep Roots

Lindeman may only be in her third year attending the vigil, but the event has history. And heart. It’s grown into more than just a remembrance — it’s a cornerstone for families still navigating life after loss.

Her voice cracked just slightly when she spoke about what it meant.

“This is a place where a horrible tragedy happened, but they’re not letting that define them,” she said. “They’re coming together, remembering their loved ones.”

She gestured toward a table filled with photos — dozens of them — all sent in by families ahead of the event. Faces frozen in time. Birthdays. Graduation caps. Candid smiles.

“This is just a way for them to give back every year,” she added softly.

What the Numbers Don’t Show

While the candlelight vigil brings a very human face to loss, the numbers behind it paint a heavy picture.

In 2024 alone, Fort Wayne recorded 32 homicides, a slight increase from the previous year, according to FWPD reports. Victims ranged in age from teenagers to retirees. Most cases involved firearms. Few had easy explanations.

But for the families — statistics don’t matter much.

What matters is the empty seat at dinner. The missed birthday. The silence that follows a knock at the door.

Lindeman says those are the wounds this vigil hopes to tend. Not to fix. Not to solve. Just to acknowledge.

A National Week, A Local Focus

Across the country, communities marked National Crime Victims’ Rights Week with their own events — marches, speeches, panels. But Fort Wayne’s approach felt deeply personal.

This year’s national theme emphasized kinship — building bonds between survivors, advocates, and those left behind. And Fort Wayne leaned into it.

At the vigil, there were no lengthy speeches or podiums. Just small touches:

• Names of homicide victims read aloud.

• Families lighting candles together.

• Counselors quietly offering hugs or just standing nearby.

“Sometimes people don’t want to talk,” said one volunteer, “They just want to be here.”

A Place to Grieve — and Breathe

For some, this was their first vigil. Their first time saying the name out loud in public. Others had been coming for years.

A mother who lost her son in 2019 whispered his name before lighting a candle. “I do this for him,” she said. “I’ll always do this for him.”

Next to her, a teenager lit a candle for her older brother. She didn’t speak. Just cried, holding her mom’s hand.

Another family brought folding chairs and a thermos of tea. They’ve come to every vigil since 2017.

“You don’t get over it,” the father said, “But this helps. A little.”

What Keeps the Community Coming Back

The strength of the event isn’t just in remembering the past — it’s in reinforcing the present. That people care. That there’s a network. That someone notices.

And it’s not just about grief either. It’s about hope. Slowly, but surely, every lit candle becomes a tiny defiance against despair.

Lindeman believes the vigil drives humanity forward. Not by ignoring pain, but by holding space for it.

“Connection is what keeps us going,” she said.

Here’s a quick snapshot of how the community has responded over the years:

As Monday night wore on and the candles burned low, the crowd thinned. Some people lingered. Others left quietly, pausing for one last look at the photos.

The lights may have dimmed — but the memory stayed burning.