Sarah Manion

Vibrant, charismatic, funny, kind, heart fully open to life’s beauty and promise, Sarah Manion was born in Denver on August 8, 1967. She returned her borrowed stardust to the universe on May 26, 2024, at age fifty-six–--entirely too soon for such an incredible life force, a vitality so potent we thought it was infinite.

The third child of Jean and Larry Manion, Sarah was a colicky baby and a shy, scrawny kid, yet the seed of her colossal future self was slowly germinating, detectable in whispers: in sly under-the-breath witticisms, foolhardy acts of (mostly innocent!) youthful rebellion, and a bottomless supply of empathy. She grew steadily in confidence, inner beauty, sass, and stature (5’10”), graduating from South High School in 1986 with big frosted-blonde hair and an independent streak a mile wide. Instead of following her mom and sisters’ footsteps to CU, she decided to forge her own path at CSU, where, even after flunking a required PE class (on bowling for Pete’s sake, making her the butt of a long-standing family joke), Sarah graduated a proud Ram in 1990 with a degree in Social Science.

She then worked for the National Renewable Energy Laboratory as Public Affairs Manager, traveling the country to organize and promote its annual Sunrayce, a 1200-mile race involving solar-powered vehicles built by collegiate teams. That stimulating job was followed by her lifelong occupation with real estate: finding, buying, fixing up, and renting underpriced diamonds-in-the-rough. She had her own infallible rental process down to a science and would astound her tenants with her fastidious checklists and very particular procedures.

Sarah married in the late 1990s, and in 2003 was blessed with one child, Gunnar, a smart, sweet, funny kid whom she loved fiercely and whom she enthusiastically supported through his athletic and academic pursuits. Although her marriage ended a few years ago, she enjoyed a liberating, life-affirming second-act with her partner Jeff. Together, they attended countless big-name concerts and hole-in-the-wall shows, drove Jeff’s Ford Sportsmobile van (nicknamed Moby) from Maine to California and later up the Oregon coast, explored five national parks, swam with turtles and boogie-boarded in Hawaii, walked hand-in-hand on many far-flug beaches at sunrise and sunset and under full moons, and, of course, skied, skied, skied, often tailgating behind Moby in resort parking lots after a sublime day on the slopes.

In the midst of Sarah’s midlife renaissance, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. No need to sugar-coat this tragic irony. But cancer neither defined her nor slowed her down. Instead, it only revealed Sarah’s unbelievable strength and resilience. She rose to the challenge, throwing herself, a whirling dervish, into her own survival, researching and reading and interviewing doctors and eating healthfully and exercising and meditating and undergoing numerous carefully selected treatments and procedures in both Denver and Houston. Throughout her suffering she maintained a positive mindset and squeezed a rich, fulfilling lifetime of experiences into three short years. She had “carpe diem” tattooed along her hysterectomy scar and took that maxim seriously. She skied seventy days that first winter. Her posts about her experiences on her Facebook group “One Wild and Precious Life” educated, inspired, and moved many people. And, of course, she found meaning and purpose helping others through COCA (now Colorado Gynecological Cancer Alliance) as a prolific fundraiser and informal spokesperson.

Sarah’s life was not measured in achievements or accolades. Rather, its worth centered on who she was and what she offered the world. She had a generous, open spirit and a contagious love of life. People were drawn to her vibe. She chatted up everyone. She had many passions: among them music, nature, skiing, travel, and photography. She took a million photos. She liked her music loud, her powder deep, and her cars fast. She bought a Porsche last year and received her first speeding ticket within a week–she tried to pull the cancer card, but the cop was unmoved. She was a “yes” person, always up for a new experience. She was an early riser, a get-stuff-done sort of individual, a list-maker, a first-tracks girl. Sarah was who she was, no apologies. She danced and sang as though no one was watching. She loved to host parties with carefully curated dance playlists and an open costume box. She was a giver, sometimes to a fault, helping both friends and strangers, frequently offering well-meaning unsolicited lectures to poor unsuspecting souls. She was a deal-finder and an unrepentant slob, her closets always overflowing, her bathrooms always strewn with myriad beauty products and half-empty duplicate tubes and bottles. She was openly vain and loved getting her “hair did” at the salon. She was really really funny. She did great impressions, her magnum opus being our Aunt Vesta, an impression so spot-on and pointlessly filthy that it would knock our dad over in hysterics. She laughed loudly and often, and made us sisters laugh so hard that tears would stream down our faces and people would stare at us, puzzled.

This planet was simply a better place with Sarah on it, and her loss leaves a great void in many hearts. But we can take some comfort in the fact that her effect on the world was incalculably diffusive. It will endure. She’ll become not merely a wellspring of funny memories, inspiration to “carpe diem,” and reminder to pay attention. It’s deeper than that: her "one wild and precious life" can become an ethos, a direction, a condition of being. To channel her prodigious spirit, we must seek and share joy, love deeply, laugh often, follow our passions, and be the best versions of ourselves. Yes, Sarah is gone forever, but she’s still entirely within us–--search for her on the chutes below the top of Steamboat’s Mount Werner, at spectacular Red Rocks concerts under star-filled summer skies, beneath a leafy tree at Wash Park, floating among the sea turtles off the coast of Maui, or in your own favorite place of peace and beauty. She stops somewhere waiting for you.

Sarah was preceded in death by her dad Larry Manion. She’s survived by her precious son Gunnar Holmes, the person she loved most in the world; her beloved, tireless, extraordinary partner Jeff Zinevich; her mom Jean Manion; her sisters Kerry Manion and Mary FitzSimons; her brother-in-law Dan FitzSimons; her nephews Jack FitzSimons and Ben Weissman; and countless friends new and old, far and near, from her dear Pi Phi sisters to her neighbors to hair salon stylists to hospital clinicians to bartenders at her favorite joints in Steamboat and Frasier. If her spirit moves you, consider donating to the Colorado Gynecological Cancer Alliance. A celebration of her life will be held at Botanic Gardens on August 17. To join the party, please respond by July 15 to the posted Evite.