But for the sound of lapping waves and the hum of a diesel engine, the boat fell silent.

The last remnants of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, puncturing the bright blue sky, loomed just ahead, and the weight of the moment swept across those on board.

A wail escaped a woman whose loved one was killed when the hulking span collapsed into the Patapsco River 364 days earlier. Gov. Wes Moore wrapped her in a tight embrace, resting his chin atop her petite frame. Baltimore Mayor Brandon Scott quietly circulated a box of tissues.

One year has passed since this boat, the biggest in the city’s fire fleet, was first summoned to the icy waters beneath what used to be the iconic bridge.

In the darkness of that March morning, emergency crews first combed the wreckage for survivors. Later, dive teams would recover the remains of the six souls lost working an overnight shift on the bridge: Alejandro Hernández Fuentes, Carlos Daniel Hernández, Maynor Yassir Suazo Sandoval, Miguel Angel Luna Gonzalez, José Mynor López and Dorlian Ronial Castillo Cabrera.

On Tuesday, those same first responders returned to the bridge collapse site, this time serving as an escort to the families of the victims and a small group of political leaders. The group marked the eve of the grim occasion by tossing wreaths into the water beneath the former span.

“Today is the anniversary of when they saw their loved ones for the last time,” said Scott, who huddled with family members of the victims on the boat’s bow for the trip to the bridge. “Losing someone in any way is hard, but like this? You can’t even imagine.”

As the boat chugged out into the widening Patapsco, Baltimore Fire Chief James Wallace stared toward the site in the distance. The contrast between Tuesday’s view bathed in daylight and the freezing darkness of March 26, 2024, was “surreal,” he said. He reflected on the many men and women he sent onto the icy water that day, amid threats like a further collapse of the bridge’s remaining spans.

Wallace said Tuesday’s trip to mark the anniversary was part of the ongoing rescue and recovery effort. He hoped it would bring the families of the victims some sense of closure, even if it’s not immediate.

“I still have an obligation with what we’re doing today, the same way I did the morning we responded,” he said. “That’s just who first responders are. We want to complete a mission.”

Emotions flowed as the piers that once held the 1.6-mile bridge began to tower over the boat. A group of children tightly clutched an older relative who sobbed at the sight of the absent span. Cries of others were muffled by their bulky lifejackets. Scott adjusted the hood of a small child battered by wind and offered a reassuring pat.

A prayer was read in Spanish as a circle of officials and family members bowed their heads. Then, one-by-one, relatives flung wreaths dotted with white flowers from the rear of the boat. The current carried the wreaths toward the bridge’s piers.

Media were asked to avoid speaking to family members.

As the boat turned for its return to downtown Baltimore, the mourners retreated to the arms of the officials who hosted them. Moore clasped one woman’s cheeks between his hands. He whispered quietly to others with the help of an interpreter.

One woman thanked the governor for recovering her husband’s body, giving her one final moment with him, Moore recalled after the trip. A child said she still has trouble sleeping, he said.

“It doesn’t get easier,” the governor said. “These families are still going through it, and the pain is very real.”

As the bridge began to fade from view, the mood on the boat lightened. Sun beat down as Moore swapped his hat emblazoned with a gubernatorial insignia with a small boy and quizzed a little girl on her favorite ice cream flavor.

Council President Zeke Cohen stood by remarking on the girl’s resemblance to his own daughter. She is one of three siblings who lost their father in the collapse, he said. The burden on her mother, he added, will be heavy.

Cohen said he felt it was important for the officials gathered to bear witness to the pain of the families. As the state enacts plans to rebuild the bridge and move forward, the victims must also remain a focus, he said.

“It’s a reminder that there’s a lot more work to do to protect workers,” Cohen said. “The fact that they were there and so vulnerable that night. That shouldn’t have happened.”

On Wednesday, some family members of the victims returned to the site as government officials further commemorated the collapse’s one-year anniversary, sharing somber remarks in Dundalk within view of the fallen bridge. Three members of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra played pensive music. Speakers applauded first responders’ efforts and sought to comfort the collapse victims’ family members.

Carmen Luna, the widow of Miguel, had hoped to attend and speak, but Maria Martinez, the state’s special secretary of small, minority and women business affairs, instead delivered a message on behalf of the victims. Wednesday was difficult for Luna, Martinez said, and Luna instead spent her time “reflecting and being with her husband, in spirit.”

“Today I stand before you with a heart still wounded,” Martinez said on behalf of Luna, “but also filled with gratitude.”