weaker. I had nothing left to fight with. My grandfather read from the scriptures to bolster and comfort me. When death comes with warning, it gives one a chance to come to terms with their mortality and prepare for the next life. And though I had been warned that my end was coming soon, since I was a boy- it had taken me all of my years to come to some sort of peace with God. For much of my life I was angry that I had been burdened with cystic fibrosis. Only toward the end did I realize that our lives on this globe are all finite, and though I may have had a tougher road than some- it was certainly not as horrible as some others have experienced. Ultimately our mortal lives are just blinks of an eye in a larger scheme. Being released from my flawed body would be a blessing, and in the end God would sort out any perceived injustices that occurred during my life.

My friends and family had a hard time believing that this was the end for me. They had seen me struggle and fight through dozens of hospital stays, and I always survived to live another day. This time it was different; I could feel it. And I took one scripture to heart, because it signified the end of a long, hard fought battle.

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand

I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:*

My Mother and Father, my true father- not my genetic father, and my brother Keef also came to my side to say their good byes. True friends that I had been fortunate enough to gather along the way of my mortal existence came to bid adieu- some flying in from other states. These were the people that I had been able to count on to be there for me throughout my life. Traditionally, many of them had gathered at my hospital bed in times past with paper, pencil and dice, and we’d play games- making my hospital stay much more entertaining. They would take breaks when doctors and nurses periodically came in to administer medicine or check on my progress. However, now, even such a sedentary activity as rolling dice was beyond my capability.

Pat Delford and I chatted emotionally about old times, and as he left he took my wife aside and asked her how we were doing financially. We weren’t doing well, and he pressed some money into her hand, and told her that if there was anything he could do to let him know. Pat wasn’t a rich man, and so I appreciated his sacrifice even more.

Joe Benson is an incredible guitar player, and I asked him to compose a piece for me and to play it at my wake. I asked Max Jenkins to put my story on paper, so that I wouldn’t be forgotten- and with the hopes that maybe my struggle might inspire somebody to overcome and accomplish, despite whatever flaws or limitations they might have.

"I’ll see you in the next life," Max whispered to me.

"Look for me." I answered. "I’ll be the one with the big silver battle axe."

Though money, fast cars, fast women, and cases of Tequila have come and gone- on one’s deathbed their significance pales beside that of family and friends; and though none are perfect, if they are capable of forgiving me my many shortcomings, then I am certainly capable of doing likewise. Each of them have made my life a better place to be…and I hope that in the long run, I have made their life a better and, at the very least, a more interesting, place.

September Peterson passed away on April 4th, 1997 in the University of Washington Medical Center.


* 2 Timothy 4: vs. 6,7