Long before Barb Russell and Dave Walter found each other, they shared something neither of them ever wanted — the loss of a spouse. Now, the Cobb County couple is using music to bring comfort to families facing the same grief they once carried alone.

Russell and Walter volunteer at four Wellstar clinics, including hospice units, where they play guitar and sing for patients and loved ones navigating some of life's most difficult moments.

Walter likes to joke that "the pay is enormous," but Russell always reminds him with a laugh that "we're volunteers." He follows it up by admitting, "We don't get paid, but we really enjoy doing it."

Both know what it's like to sit beside someone you love in a hospital room, and what it feels like when the holidays and heartbreak collide. Russell's husband, a Vietnam veteran, died of lung cancer in 2004, just a week before Christmas. She remembers that time as "scary and lonely," and says the isolation during hospice inspired her to help others later on. 

"I didn't want other people to go through that same kind of feeling," she said.

Walter's wife died in 2009 after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. 

"She passed away two months to the day after she was diagnosed," he said.

For years, both grieved separately. Then, in 2014, they met online and quickly discovered a shared love of music. As their relationship grew, so did their sense of purpose. 

"When we found the pathway to hospice, that just gave so much meaning to our relationship," Russell said. "I treasure that."

Families often pause on their way out of the hospital to share what the couple's music means to them. 

Walter said people tell them, "I came in stressed out, but after hearing you play, I can feel my blood pressure go way down," which means more to them than any compliment about musicianship.

Even as they've moved forward together, they continue to honor the partners they lost. 

"We both had really beautiful marriages," Russell said. "I think it's their gift to us to continue on in a loving and beautiful rest of your life."

Their second chance at love has become a source of comfort for others navigating grief — especially during the holidays, when memories feel heavier, and silence feels louder. Russell believes that "anything that can lift somebody up and bring a smile, even if it's just for a short little bit, matters — and I feel like we matter too."

Their message is simple: grief never disappears, but neither does love — and life can still find harmony. Russell encourages others to "hold on to the memories, look for new ways to make new memories, and cherish what you have right in front of you."

And for patients who can no longer speak or open their eyes, research shows music can still reach them — a reminder that even when connection feels impossible, there is always a way to be heard.