Marilyn J. Rayburn (1934-2004)

It's with deep sadness that I must mention the passing of my mother, Marilyn Rayburn. Words fail to bring to life all of the infectious smiles and winks. The loving hugs. The deserved scoldings. The pain and the joy that a family endures from generation to generation. I can't imagine my world without her, but now I have to (in the physical sense, anyway). She leaves me with a lifetime's worth of scrapbook memories in my mind. She leaves me with traditions that were born and handed down. And, in the end, she leaves ME. For, without her and my pop, I would not be the man you know today. Still, you'd think I would have picked up on how to play the organ as energetically as she did. Playing music always made her happy, and that made me happy.

She and my father were married for forty-nine years, up until the time of his passing. We still called it "fifty" last year because he was around in such strong spirit. They shared the same birth date. They celebrated their anniversary on New Year's Eve. They lived overseas during dad's service in the Air Force in the 50's. They came back to the states and raised a family according to the American dream. They got by, and ultimately retired to Boise, Idaho where they enjoyed visits from their children and grandchildren. They lived very full lives, and nothing can be said to deny that.

Mom always had a sharp memory. She always knew everyone's birthday, and all the anniversary dates across the board. She kept the family history at the forefront with her recounting of various events that took place over the years with everyone on both sides of my family. Hard times. Good times. She even made bland detail seem special. It seems impossible that my favorite storyteller can offer no more stories. I can only be thankful that I was a captive audience as often as I was. And, I can proudly say that many of the stories were about me (and that beat-to-death Bugs Bunny doll I always dragged around as a toddler). My only self-instilled obligation now is to keep that spirit alive and never forget where I came from. After all... tradition is tradition.

I love you, mom.