I’ve always been intuitive and in touch with nature. When I was 4 years-old we lived at Mt. Rainer National Park where I spent a lot of time outside. I used to lay in fields of wild-flowers and imagine that I was a raindrop that would turn into a bird and fly away after bouncing off a flower. I would then run home and ask my mom why I wasn’t able to do this. She never had an answer for me and also never discouraged me.

When I was 18 years old, I gave birth to a son. I instinctively knew I was going to have a boy, born on leap day (was due in early April), I would have a C-section, and all would be well. All came to pass.

Then when I met my late husband many years later this intuition continued, and I had a feeling that I would be widowed before my time. I often wonder if he knew this too.

I’ll never forget two such instances that led me to this feeling. About six months into our budding romance Glenn and I were driving someplace when the song by Leon Russle, “A Song for You,” came on the radio. It’s a beautiful old school song from the 1970s. Glenn looked right at me and said, “You will miss me when I’m gone.”

The lyric goes like this:

Well I’ve been a lot places in my life and time
I’ve sung a lot of songs and I’ve made some bad rhymes
I acted out my life in stages
With ten thousand people watching
Now we’re alone and I am singing my song for you

And I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I’ve treated you unkindly but darling can’t you see
There’s no one more important to me
So darling can’t you please see through me
‘Cause we’re alone now and I’m singin’ my song for you

Well you taught me precious secrets of a truth, withholdin’ nothin’
You came out in front but I was hiding
And now I’m so much better and if my words don’t come together
Just listen to the melody for my love’s in there hiding

And I love you in a place where there’s no space or time
I love you for my life, you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over, remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singin’ my song for you

The words “And when my life is over, remember when we were together…and I was singing my song for you,” felt like a searing hot knife in my heart. I knew then and there this was going to be us, but I brushed it off. “Don’t say such things, we just met!”

We never talked about that moment again, but I never forgot it, either.

About a year later Glenn and I went to the eye doctor together. As we entered the reception area, we were bickering about something benign like the parking meter or something minor like that. Glenn went in first and while I was waiting for my turn, the receptionist looked at me and said, “My husband died last year, I regret all the times we argued.” She meant well and it came across very loving. Like the time before, I brushed it off but knew I would be in her shoes before my time.

The night before Glenn’s brain bleed we were having one of our many late night conversations in bed when I joked with him and said, “What would you do if when you die you wake up and are in line on a cloud waiting for your robe and harp?” Instead of laughing like most people would do, Glenn looked at me and said, “You will be okay.” Less than a week later I was a widow.

There were many other signs. Glenn wasn’t sick or depressed, it was if he had this “knowing,” that his time on this earth was limited and we wouldn’t grow old together. I wish we would have talked about it. I will always wonder how he knew and it makes me sad to think that he carried this secret. No wonder he always wanted to be together as if he was trying to hold onto every precious moment.

Have you ever heard the term “gut feeling?” Wall Street traders have been using it for decades to predict the stock market. We all have it, that subtle sense in your belly that immediately tells you to turn right instead of left so you avoid a terrible accident on your way home from work, that feeling that “something isn’t right,” or an immediate zing of energy that tells you it “is right.”

After my husband’s sudden death, I was haunted by this for a while and wanted no part of it. I didn’t want to get any more “feelings,” that bad news was just around the corner. I’d had enough bad news, already.

Then one day I had an epiphany about all of this. My mom was telling me about her mother, my grandma. “My mother,” she said, “always told us that ‘negative energy is strong so you don’t have to look for it. Positive energy is more subtle, so you have to look it.” So, look for the good because the bad shows itself.””

That’s it! My grandmother knew this simple truth. Positive intuition is like “looking for the good,” its subtle yet, it’s still there so you have to look for it, feel it, sense it. Premonitions are not all bad.

Glenn came to me in a dream a few short months after all of this to let me know why it happened. I’ve written about it (See my “Dreams,” post where you can read about it and in detail in my forthcoming memoir). My intuition seems to get stronger as I move forward on my own. I no longer brush-off intuition and instead embrace it.

This summer will be my 8th summer without Glenn in it. I’ve found that over time my intuition has increased and I no longer fear what it will bring. Yes, there has been some negative premonitions that have come to pass and also has  many positive ones! Learning to go inside has helped. A daily yoga and meditation practice, even if just for a few short minutes has changed my life for the better. I find that it builds up positive energy like a water tower filled to the brim that helps me navigate my way.

So, look for the good because the bad shows itself.