PLANO — People arrived Sunday night in small groups — nearly two dozen in all — to remember those killed a year ago in this city's deadliest shooting in decades.

They were there to mark the passage of time. But to those who knew the victims, the pain seems eternal.

"Day 365 is just as hard as day one," said Woody Dunlop, whose son James was one of eight people fatally shot during a football watch party on Sept. 10, 2017.

That night, Spencer Hight showed up drunk and heavily armed at the home he once shared with his estranged wife, Meredith, 27. It was the eve of their sixth wedding anniversary. Their divorce was pending. She was moving on with her life. He couldn't let her go.

Hight, 32, stopped first at the Local Public House bar down the street, where he displayed a knife and a pistol and had several drinks. His blood alcohol level was 0.33, more than four times the legal limit, when he arrived at the party, uninvited, at about 8 p.m.

(Top row, from left) Meredith Hight, 27; Rion Morgan, 31; James Dunlop, 29; and Myah Bass, 28. (Bottom row, from left) Caleb Edwards, 25; Olivia Deffner, 24; Darryl William Hawkins, 22; and Anthony "Tony" Cross, 33. Police say Spencer Hight burst into Meredith's cookout in Plano on Sept. 10, 2017, fatally shooting her and seven others.

His friends had been grilling that day. A Slip N Slide was laid out in the backyard. The Dallas Cowboys' first regular-season game was on TV.

Spencer Hight, shown in a photo posted to his Facebook page on June 27, 2017.

Hight used an AR-15 rifle to kill his estranged wife, along with Rion Morgan, 31; Anthony "Tony" Cross, 33; Olivia Deffner, 24; James Dunlop, 29; Darryl William Hawkins, 22; Myah Bass, 28; and Caleb Edwards, 25.

After his spree, Hight traded gunfire with the first officer to arrive. He was killed.

The victims' families voted to mark the first anniversary on Sunday outside the home, which remains vacant. Not everyone could make it. And not everyone could bring themselves to return to the scene of the crime.

"It's important for us to be here," said Hawkins' mother, Tonnia, who has been a regular sight at the home on Spring Creek Parkway. "I found I couldn't be away."

James Engelking of Dallas says he stops by the house when he can to say a prayer for Caleb Edwards, who was his friend.

"I try to be happy and use his memory to appreciate life," Engelking said.

Kyle Affoon described the first anniversary of the massacre as "surreal."

He was supposed to be at the party that night. But his cellphone battery ran out and he couldn't reach his friends. So he went home instead to recharge.

When he heard about a shooting later that night, he headed to the scene to make sure everyone was OK. He arrived to flashing police lights and crime scene tape blocking his path.

"I couldn't believe it," he said. "I just lost them."

Sunday's vigil also served as a reminder for domestic violence victims to seek help. Twice before, Meredith Hight had told her parents that Spencer Hight had been violent with her. But she didn't call police.

"No family should have to go through what our families have gone through," said Hawkins' father, who is also named Darryl.

Three of the families filed suit in June against Local Public House and the bartender who served Hight that night. The private club surrendered its liquor license last month.

"MISS YALL," read the marquee out front on Sunday. A note taped to the door stated the landlord had seized the property over "nonpayment of the rent and breach of the contract."

Woody Dunlop is a plaintiff in the suit along with the families of Hawkins and Edwards. He said their goal is to shut down the other bars operated by the same company.

"They don't have any business selling liquor," he said, adding that anyone who read the report from the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission on the Plano killings would agree.

Also attending Sunday's vigil was Carly Shockey, the lone survivor of the massacre. She exchanged hugs with families and friends who have bonded over the tragedy.

She's still recovering from her gunshot wounds. And she's held tight to her story, which she hopes to tell in her own time and in her own way. She asked for privacy as she continues to heal.

"I'm trying to be the best I can," she said.