By Catherine McLaughlin, Concord Monitor

One year ago, Larry Regan stood before a table in the fluttering light of electric candles and read a poem that had helped him through the grief of losing his wife. Each of the candles was labeled with the name of someone who died in 2024 while unhoused or having a history of homelessness.

Regan, a Red Sox fan, Jeopardy devotee, golfer and U.S. history buff, received an apartment on Pleasant St. last summer through the Concord Coalition to End Homelessness. He had spent three years living outside in the capital city, and once he received housing, he saw himself as “one of the lucky ones.”

On Thursday night, at this year’s homeless memorial day vigil, the names of 72 people who passed away this year across New Hampshire were read aloud over the toll of a bell. Like in years prior, members of the crowd placed candles bearing the deceased’s names on a white-clothed table.

One of those candles was for Larry Regan. He was 53 years old when he died in May.

“It’s being hit by a car because you’re walking down the street. It’s freezing to death. It’s carbon monoxide poisoning in a tent. It’s a fire in an RV,” Hubbard continued. “These are the circumstances of being unhoused, and that is the cause of death.”

A few towns haven’t yet reported the number of homeless individuals who died in their boundaries this year, but even without the complete count, the number of these deaths statewide is up from 54 last year.

It was an especially heavy year of loss in Concord: 19 of those remembered were local residents, up from 12 last year.

They included Daniel Virgin, 81, who was proud of his Native American heritage and loved to watch wrestling, and Michael Schilz, who was discovered in a shed across from the state prison.

Curtis Ayer, an artist who left his mark underneath bridges and overpasses in the city, was found deceased near the Interstate-393 bridge. David Browall was killed when a fire consumed his RV at the Steeplegate Mall. Tim White died of carbon monoxide poisoning as he slept in his tent beside his partner.

Michael Davis Jr. had been a home visitor for the Community Action Program before he lost his housing again. Built “like Andre the Giant,” he was forced to live in his car, where he passed away.

Elaine Adams, 59, and Elisabeth Benoit, 43, were struck by cars on Loudon Road in August and October. Adams had a ritual of morning coffee at the Bean and Bakery, and Benoit was remembered as a “diva” who loved dressing up and painting her nails.

Their families and friends joined a crowd of several dozen at the State House plaza on Thursday. They sipped hot chocolate, leaned their heads on one another’s shoulders and gripped their hands together tightly.

A tinkerer and mechanic whose family described him as a summer day personified, Browall, who died in his RV, had been close with Savannah Boucher.

“Every day, I find something that reminds me of him, just him living within things,” Boucher said. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

The weather turning cold again means Deborah Eckland is feeling the loss of her brother, Glenn Chrzan, anew.

Cold, like the morning when he walked out of Catholic Medical Center in Manchester and never made it back to the Helping Hands shelter. Cold, like the 47 days she spent scouring the city for him.

The vigil is held annually around the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, a reminder of the toll that long, dark, cold winters can take on those living outside.

This winter, the coalition and The Friendly Kitchen, with support from the city and county, have teamed up to provide 24-hour warming centers on days with harsh weather.

Eckland brought with her a sign, like ones she had carried with her on those daily search trips. Alongside photos of Chrzan were photos of Tim Russell , who was found dead at his Memorial Field campsite while his name sat at the top of the list for an apartment, and Rodney Moody, a pillar of Concord’s unhoused community who had been a close friend.

Eckland shared a long, tight hug with Tim’s mother, Becky. His younger brother, James, held the candle bearing Tim’s name high in the air, lingering there before he placed it on the white tablecloth.