NEWTOWN, Conn. >> Tangible reminders of the massacre still linger. On the door of the Blue Colony Diner, a frayed sticker clings to the glass. A teddy bear with wings cradles a smaller bear, alongside a message declaring that the town’s “26 Angels” are “Always Here, Never Forgotten.”

Not all the signs of the bloodshed that erupted five years ago at Sandy Hook Elementary are as visible. But they exist — in the features of the new school building, like bullet-resistant windows and reinforced walls, meant to ease the fears of parents still haunted by memories of a 20-year-old man storming into the old building and killing 20 first-graders and six adults in a spray of gunfire.

There is also the uncomfortable silence that creeps into everyday conversations — at soccer games and in pediatricians’ offices, where doctors wonder if their patients’ symptoms stem from trauma. The town struggles to figure out how to talk about what happened. But the community quickly developed a shorthand to refer to it: “the tragedy,” or “12/14,” the date of the anniversary, which is occurring yet again. Some say they know it is coming — this “season of extra mourning,” as one teacher described it — as soon as the sun starts setting earlier in the fall.

“It’s still so raw,” said a mother whose son and daughter attend elementary school in town.

In the five years since the shooting, which transformed a fairly anonymous Connecticut town into a buzzword in the caustic national debate on gun violence, armed men have killed people at a nightclub, an outdoor music festival, a social services center, movie theaters, a church in South Carolina and a church in Texas.

The displays of grief follow a familiar routine: Candlelight vigils and makeshift memorials. National offerings of thoughts and prayers. Pleas to tighten gun laws, immediately trailed by calls to avoid politicizing a tragedy.

But to see Newtown in 2017 is to see how grief endures and evolves, and how a community can, however fitfully, negotiate a way forward. It is an uncomfortable process, involving a delicate dance between not wanting to dwell on the loss and not wanting to stray from a vow to never forget.

“It’s a very tricky balance,” said Abbey Clements, who was a second-grade teacher at Sandy Hook. “We work really hard to be resilient and strong,” she said. “And I think it’s OK to recognize that we’re still grieving, and that we should never forget. We don’t want to forget.”

The shooting punctured the sense of security that blanketed Newtown, a quiet and bucolic New England community, and stunned a country that could not comprehend an act as depraved as mowing down 6- and 7-year-old children. That day, an emotional President Barack Obama dabbed his eyes as he addressed the nation.

The shock waves have, by now, faded to something more subtle. Yet they still ripple through the town, stirring concentric circles of anguish, leaving people with varying degrees of pain and differing sets of struggles. The victims’ relatives are at the core. Beyond them are the teachers and students who witnessed the carnage and chaos that day; the police officers, emergency workers and doctors who responded to it; and then an entire community.

“It’s almost impossible to ask the question, ‘How is the town doing?’ It depends entirely on who you ask,” said David Wheeler, whose 6-year-old son, Benjamin, was killed. “One of the things an event like this does — it doesn’t change you, it simply heightens who you already are. There are beautiful, meaningful, thoughtful and very kind gestures at every turn, from people you know well and people you don’t know at all.”

A FATHER FINDS SOLACE IN ACTIVISM

Twenty-six families had 26 different ways to respond. Some withdrew, seeking space and solitude. Some formed charitable foundations and organized fundraisers. And there were some, like the Wheelers, who leapt into activism.

This month, Wheeler traveled by plane and church van to Grinnell, Iowa, a small college town about an hour’s drive east of Des Moines. He had come for a screening of a documentary about the shooting and a demonstration outside the headquarters of Brownells Inc., a gun company whose chief executive, Pete Brownell, was elected president of the National Rifle Association this year.

The Wheelers are one of nine families, along with a teacher who was shot and survived, who have sued the companies that manufactured and sold the military-style assault rifle used in the attack by Adam Lanza, the gunman. After years of legal back and forth, the families are awaiting a decision from the Connecticut Supreme Court.

MEMORIALIZING A TRAGEDY

The town is planning a permanent memorial, which will be set on a 5-acre parcel near the school. Design guidelines issued by the Sandy Hook Permanent Memorial Commission described its hope for “an inspirational setting in which to remember the victims of the tragic event that shocked the Newtown community and the world.”

Simplicity and plants that attract butterflies and other wildlife are welcome. References to “12/14” or the number 26, literal depictions of the victims, and designs involving playground equipment should be avoided.

“People haven’t taken that deep breath of, ‘Is this ever going to end?” said Kyle Lyddy, the commission’s chairman. “It isn’t. We have to get used to living with this new normal.”

As the anniversary neared, Christmas lights lined the roofs of houses, and garlands looped around lampposts along a main street. Residents gathered for tree-lighting events. And at the firehouse in front of the elementary school — a landmark seared into the memories of many as the place where families learned their children or relatives were dead — dozens of bundled-up conifers had been propped up outside, awaiting a tree sale.

On the front of the firehouse, beside its towering doors, was one of the few public markers, a plaque etched with names:

Charlotte Bacon. Rachel D’Avino. Daniel Barden. Olivia Engel. Josephine Gay. Ana Marquez-Greene. Madeleine F. Hsu. Dylan Hockley. Dawn Hochsprung. Catherine V. Hubbard. Chase Kowalski. Jesse Lewis. James Mattioli. Grace McDonnell. Emilie Parker. Anne Marie Murphy. Jack Pinto. Noah Pozner. Caroline Previdi. Lauren Rousseau. Jessica Rekos. Mary Sherlach. Avielle Richman. Benjamin Wheeler. Victoria Soto. Allison N. Wyatt.

And on the roof were 26 copper stars. They had weathered some since they were installed. Even so, they maintained their luster in the last burst of golden, late-afternoon light that washed over Newtown before the darkness, which had been arriving earlier and earlier, set in.

© 2017 The New York Times Company