Have you ever met someone “out in the wild” that was delivering a message to you at just the right time and place? I remember sitting with my parents in church on Sundays and wondering if my mom told the pastor about my teenage shenanigans because I thought the sermon was a direct message from God to me. I could barely make eye contact with the pastor or my parents upon exit.

I have always been someone who searches for meaning and messages in everything. What is this place, this moment, this person trying to tell me? Some people may also refer to this gift as overthinking. And with any super power, my search for meaning can be used for good or evil. So I love this GOOD story of meaning- making. And I love that it is my story. This is a story about the Messengers I met last year on the beautiful coast of Oregon in a small beach side town called Manzanita.

From December 2023 to April 2024, I had been walking around the world as a zombie from the Walking Dead show. My husband had just died and I was approaching my 50th birthday trying to navigate the world with my insides falling out. I was literally holding my stomach with my arms to cover up what I thought everyone could see…my heart ripped open and my eyes empty of any form of life. This is the zombie woman that arrived in Oregon for a work event that week. She wore a name tag and made small talk and carried her invisible entrails around hoping they wouldn’t take up two seats.

Fast forward to an astute colleague and friend that saw me at the end of an afternoon of many talking heads and said, “let’s go see the sunset and put our toes in the Pacific ocean.” Like Thelma and Louise, we drove out to the coast to a little town called Manzanita because we put “wineries near the ocean” in our navigation and picked the one that met those two criteria. The drive there was beyond beautiful with the forest and mountains meeting the ocean in what felt like a movie scene. The small winery we found had big fire pits for seating outside where neighbors, and strangers like us, gathered and talked with the sun setting over the ocean in the background. These are the Messengers I found there on that kind of kismet day.

The Old Man & the Sea was sitting alone staring at the fire when we found him. He would be the first stranger I ever told my story to about losing my husband to suicide. He was 5 years a widower, a Veteran, and it was his annual pilgrimage to this winery his wife loved. This is where they had years of happy memories that he would go onto share with us over those flames. He just needed someone to talk to and understand his journey. He was the messenger to tell me I wasn’t alone and my story was not too much to witness. It was the grief and love that bonded us. Not the details of how it all ended.

The Fisherman was on the heels of a divorce. His infant son had died just 5 days after a traumatic entry into the world and it left his marriage and his life stricken with grief. He would teach me that grief is a universal experience. Not something special for only me to endure as a widow. It was personal but not a unique kind of pain to carry. I would go onto find this kind of pain in many people and places. It was a truly magical bonding experience at a time when I had never felt more alone in the world. He would be the messenger who also pointed me to the sunset and reminded me that life goes on and my life mattered and I would be okay.

The Millennial was one of those cool techy guys who had the freedom to travel. He was renting a house on the beach for 3 months because his work allowed for that kind of hybrid arrangement. He called me a MILF, which I hope no one over the age of 50 googles and all of you under the age 50 admires. Wait, I was funny? I was beautiful? Are you saying you do not see my entrails? He would be the messenger who inspired me to live and explore and be the light that my husband saw and loved.

The Newlyweds were in their 60’s and bike riding around the coast for fun. They found each other at age 60! They finished each other’s sentences and the wife corrected his flirtatious tipsy behavior with the strongest sense of knowing him. Oh how I miss being truly known the way my late husband knew me! They told us their love story that was built on top of other love stories that had ended. They would be the messengers that told me I was capable and worthy of loving again…someday.

The Mother & Daughter Duo were traveling in a van around the coast to reconnect after the kidult daughter had completed a stay in rehab and the mom was dealing with the mental illness of her husband. The Mom had just turned 50 and we stared into each other’s souls like we were walking the same path in so many ways.They would be the messengers that told me my family could heal from this tragedy. They would be the messengers that reminded me that we are each on our own journey. And no amount of “mothering” would change the fact that my children had to experience this grief in their own way and make their own sense of it in their lives.

Needless to say, that night on the beautiful coast of Oregon, my insides were zipped up. I mean I felt a complete supernatural zipping up in a way I can only describe as that feeling when you get those jeans zipped up after menopause. It was the concrete completion of my first chapter of grief. I was alive again and the zombie was gone.

I walked through the airport headed home without holding my stomach with my arms. My face was looking up and around at all the beautiful humans around me. My eyes were filled with the promise of a new sunrise and sunset each day. And my heart was filled with the message from Erik that while I may always search for him on the horizon, he is really just behind me with his hands on my shoulders, prompting me to see the beauty that is right in front of me.

And those are the people you meet in Manzanita.