By Joanne Peterson

Peggy Pritchard Olson died this week.

Ive written other columns about my friend Peggy since her unthinkable diagnosis of ALS, a fatal progressive neuromuscular disease. I knew someday I would have to write this column, acknowledging the loss of a unique and wonderful woman, a responsible and respected public servant, a compassionate and loyal friend, bright and funny, with too many gifts to list.

The morning Peggy died, I spent a few hours pushing words around, writing and deleting, writing and deleting some more. I cried some, though I celebrated her escape from the body that no longer served her mind, her personality, her spirit.

Eventually, I gave up, grabbed a jacket, and walked through a cold wet breeze to the beach.

This is what it was like on her beloved Edmonds waterfront the day Peggy died: Gray sky, gray water, gray sand, gray rain, gray gulls, gray driftwood, gray beach rocks.Everything gray.

I walked along the shoreline, where the outgoing tide left a broad strand of smooth damp beach.

I picked up a saltwater-smoothed bit of a stick and chose a space on the flat sand to carve Peggys name in bold letters. With the stick, I drew a heart around her name. I said, Thank you, Peggy. Good job. Good job. After a while, I turned away.

For whatever reason, it always comes to this when I am mourning the loss of a dear one: A name scratched in the sand, to last until the next tide rolls in. Somehow, though, this little memorial stays in my heart. Walking away from Peggys name in the sand, heading home, I hoped that now I could write about her.

Peggy and I visited about our treasured granddaughters, sharing photos and funny stories. We talked about our beloved fathers and the effects they had on our lives.

The influence of Peggys well-known politician dad shaped her into the generous public servant she became. We talked about the priceless value of trusted friends, walking with us through joy and tragedy. We talked religion, politics, movies and books.

I first met Peggy at a Friends of the Library meeting.

Her participationespecially in leadership of the annual book sale--was legendary. I knew Peggy so few years, considering the countless friends of her lifetime, ranging from childhood to sorority to politics to service groups.

It was my privilege to be in a relationship deepened by weekly gatherings of Team Peggy, a group meeting throughout many months of her ALS battle, supporting her and her goals of raising ALS awareness, starting a local ALS support group and collecting funds to fight the disease.

Peggy Pritchard Olson deserved better.

She deserved a million more choices spread across years and years of fresh opportunities among all of us who loved her. She did not deserve ALS.