NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE — The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp in the corner. Machines hummed quietly, marking the slow rhythm of a fading heartbeat. Jessi Colter sat close, her hand wrapped around Waylon Jennings’ — the hand that had once strummed outlaw anthems and gripped microphones before roaring crowds of thousands. Now, it lay warm but fragile in hers.
It had been hours since anyone else had entered the room. Doctors had already told her that the time was near, but for Jessi, there was no clock. There was only this moment, this breath, this man she had loved through storms and songs, through chaos and calm.
She leaned forward, brushing back the silver-streaked hair from his forehead. His eyes, heavy-lidded yet still carrying that unmistakable fire, locked on hers. And then, in a voice hoarse but steady, he spoke words meant for no one else.
“Take care of the music… and remember, I was yours from the start.”
Jessi says she will never forget it — not just the words, but the look in his eyes when he said them. “It wasn’t about fame, or regrets, or even goodbye,” she later shared. “It was about love. Love for me, and love for the music that gave us everything and cost us so much.”
A Love Story in the Outlaw Days
For more than three decades, Jessi Colter and Waylon Jennings had been one of country music’s most enduring partnerships. She had stood beside him during the rise of the outlaw country movement, when Waylon, Willie, Kris, and Johnny were reshaping the sound — and the soul — of Nashville.
Through battles with addiction, long tours, and the unrelenting glare of fame, their love endured. “We fought, we laughed, we lived on buses and in dressing rooms,” Jessi once said. “And somehow, we always came back to each other.”
But behind the music was a man who, in private, was gentler than his outlaw image suggested. Waylon’s last words reflected that truth — a reminder that for all the gold records and legendary shows, his legacy wasn’t just in the songs, but in the relationships he cherished.
The Weight of a Promise
Jessi took his words as a charge, a final mission. “Take care of the music” meant more than keeping his recordings alive. It meant protecting the heart of the outlaw spirit — the honesty, the grit, the refusal to bend to industry pressures. And “I was yours from the start” was more than a declaration. It was his way of telling her, Even at the height of chaos, you were my constant.
In the years since his passing in 2002, Jessi has done just that. She’s guarded Waylon’s archives, overseen reissues, and made sure new generations understand the man behind the myth.
She admits that his absence is still felt every day. “There are mornings I wake up and still expect to hear him picking a guitar in the kitchen,” she says. “But when I close my eyes, I can hear that voice — the one that filled stadiums — telling me those last words. And I keep my promise.”
A Private Goodbye, A Public Legacy
Waylon Jennings’ last words were never meant for the press, for a stage, or for the history books. They were meant for the woman who had walked every mile of that wild road with him.
For Jessi Colter, those words are now a guiding light. And for the fans who still sing along to Luckenbach, Texas and Good Hearted Woman, they are a reminder: the music was more than a career. It was his life’s work, and it lives on because someone he loved enough to trust with his final breath is still carrying it forward.
“I was yours from the start.”
It was the truth Waylon Jennings wanted her to know above all else — and the one she will carry until her own last song fades.