When They Leave so We Can Begin

Walter, my husband and the love of my life, passed away in August 2024. His transition was both heartbreaking and, in a strange and sacred way, divinely timed.

Before Walter died, I became clear that the work I was meant to do on this earthly plane could only begin after he transitioned. That inner knowing was gut-wrenching. To realize that I had to lose the love of my life in order to step fully into my purpose tore me to pieces—and still, I felt a sense of peace.

It’s hard to explain that kind of knowing. Hard to explain the both/and of such deep grief and unwavering inner truth living side by side in my soul. I only shared it with a few trusted people, because it’s not the kind of statement that easily settles in the hearts or minds of others.

But I feel the need to share it now—because a song that meant so much to us has returned to remind me how our loved ones continue to reach out, especially through music.

In April of 2024, Walter and I went on a cruise. One night, we sat and listened to a band perform. They sang “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. That moment felt like a portal—time slowed, tears welled, and something sacred passed between us. (You can read more about that night here.)

After that experience, Walter and I talked about how I would know he was with me—how I’d hear that song on the radio and feel his presence. Since his passing, I’ve only heard it twice (without me choosing to play it). Once was after a networking meeting. It didn’t carry much more meaning than a soft “I’m with you, babe.” The second time... I’ll come back to in a moment.

Of course, I’ve played the song on my own too—especially when I’ve needed to touch my grief. I played it on my birthday in March 2025. My first birthday without Walter. That day, I gave myself space to dive deep emotionally and had someone support me in releasing what I’d been holding.

For reasons I can’t explain, I felt called to play the Whitney song. As I sat in my living room and the lyrics began, I heard:

If I should stay
I would only be in your way
So I'll go, but I know
I'll think of you every step of the way

And suddenly—it clicked.

Those words: If I should stay, I would only be in your way. I’d heard them so many times before, but this time, they landed differently. I knew he understood it too. Walter knew that leaving the physical plane was the next step in our journey together.

I’m crying as I write this. I will always be touched by the depth of love he had for me.

Listening to that song softened a piece of grief that had lodged itself inside me. During the session I had that day, I wailed as wave after wave of sorrow poured out. And though I was exhausted, I felt an incredible spaciousness settle in afterward.

Several weeks later, I attended a week-long soul renewal retreat. We engaged in energetic and somatic practices throughout the week, and again, I found myself releasing not only grief but also anger and rage from other moments in my life. The emotional release—and the experience of being seen and held by a circle of women I now call sisters—was profoundly healing.

I knew I had let go of so much that had kept me from stepping into what’s next. I truly felt renewed.

Then, as I sat in the airport waiting to fly home, I had lunch with a friend. And over the hum of restaurant noise, I heard it- the song…

“If I should stay… I would only be in your way…”

The tears came again as the song played. This time, it was Walter—letting me know, with absolute clarity, that yes… he had to go, so I could rise into what was next.

I’ve come to understand that my work now is about holding sacred space for others to do their own healing. Whether someone is seeking deep emotional release through energetic healing or trying to understand what’s keeping them from moving forward, I’m here to partner with them.

Our loved ones have so many ways of staying connected once they transition to the spiritual realm. Birds. Numbers. Electricity. Scents. Songs.

Walter’s main ways are birds and music.

If you’ve ever experienced a moment that felt like more than coincidence—a cardinal at your window, lights flickering, a familiar fragrance from nowhere—perhaps it was a message. A sign. A whisper from someone you love.

I’d love to hear how your beloved reaches out to you.