A full life ends with rift unresolved

A St. Petersburg activist and actor, who denied her older son's accusations of abuse, died on Jan. 6. Her son hadn't changed his story but did apologize for causing her pain.

By DAVE SCHEIBER

© St. Petersburg Times, published January 14, 2001

She fought for civil liberties. She wrote and acted in one-woman plays around Tampa Bay. Friends knew her for an adventurous spirit, whimsical sense of humor and dogged determination in tackling issues she believed in.

She also carried inside a deep sense of sadness, knowing there was nothing she could do to push away the pain.

The older of her two adult sons accused her in 1997 of sexually abusing him as a young child, even though he acknowledged he could not remember what happened. He expressed his rage at her -- and she vehemently maintained her innocence -- in a series of e-mails they exchanged in the ensuing years.

The Times wrote about this situation Nov. 26 in a story headlined Sins of the Mother? Using excerpts of the e-mails she provided, the piece also examined the heated issue of recovered memory therapy.

On Jan. 6, the mother featured in the story died of complications from cancer.

She had asked to remain anonymous. But in the wake of her death, her family has given permission for her identity to be revealed.

She was a 71-year-old St. Petersburg resident named Irene Miller. She filled her life with many career pursuits, creative endeavors and good friends -- nearly 100 of whom gathered for a sunset memorial Friday at Fort DeSoto Park.

Ms. Miller served as president of the Pinellas County American Civil Liberties Union, was a member and past president of the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship and worked for the Pinellas County school system as a counselor at Lakewood High.

She kept equally busy with personal projects. She was a founder of the Liberty Fife and Drum Corps. She was also active in local theater, writing and acting in one-woman shows about Margaret Sanger and Susan B. Anthony, and starring in Lysistrata.

"My mother embodied gracefulness," said her younger son, Hugh Miller, 42, of Seattle, who has maintained his belief in her innocence. "She had to handle so much, and she did it with natural elegance."

The Times' story focused on the relationship between Ms. Miller and her son Chris, of Portland, Ore. Four years ago he sent her a letter saying, "When I was a kid, too much happened that I got p--- off about and am still p--- off about." He later explained that he had fleeting memories of his mother sexually abusing him.

Ms. Miller was shocked and heartbroken. Her former husband and younger son supported her in saying no abuse ever occurred.

The story explored a widely discredited form of psychotherapy that used suggestion to implant "memories" of childhood abuse at the hands of parents. Chris Miller said he became aware of the alleged abuse through therapy but said the therapy had nothing to do with the recovered memory approach.

Ms. Miller had requested anonymity for several reasons. For one, she feared, as an ACLU leader, that being named could bring negative press to the organization.

"My mom was very worried about that -- she did not want to do anything to cause problems for the ACLU," Miller said. "But she was always a courageous and honest woman; I know she would want people to know about this now."

Ms. Miller had confided her concerns to state ACLU leaders and received their full sympathy and support. "I will miss her terribly," said state ACLU president Howard Simon, one of the last people to speak to her. "She was a very, very warm person, with an impish twinkle in her eye for issues involving social justice, civil liberties and life."

Ms. Miller was held in similarly high esteem by the False Memory Syndrome Foundation, a Philadelphia support group for accused parents.

"It was such a magnificent and brave gesture that she told her story when she was so ill," said foundation director Pamela Freyd. "Her thoughts were to help as many families as she possibly could." As a result, Freyd says, her group was contacted by some 15 parents struggling through similar situations.

Few people knew Ms. Miller better than Alan Nelson, 76, a retired Air Force pilot and her longtime friend. He helped her found the Liberty Fife and Drum Corps, after they took a trip to Williamsburg, Va. "I'll always remember the joy she got from carrying the Betsy Ross flag in parades," he says.

Ms. Miller learned of her cancer in October, when a rare type of tumor was discovered in her lower abdomen. But she remained upbeat through surgery and chemotherapy. She collected whimsical phrases to "tell" the cancer ("Your services are no longer needed"; "This tummy ain't big enough for the two of us"; "Out, damned lumps"). At first, the prognosis was hopeful, and she wrote:

"I'm having a wonderful feeling of my life coming back together. The staples were removed and it's been such a beautiful day."

In November, her condition took a turn for the worse. She wrote in an e-mail: "It seems I have an aggressive, fast-growing tumor. . . . I choose to remain optimistic, to try to figure out how I'd like to spend my time -- no matter how much time I have."

She also continued to cope with the lingering hurt from the loss of her relationship with her oldest son, his wife and their young son -- her only grandchild.

"I saw the effect that had on her -- not even being able to see her only grandchild, not being able to send him a gift," Nelson said. "That just tore her up."

Still, according to Hugh Miller, one of his mother's greatest concerns while she fought the cancer in recent months was that Chris not feel he was responsible for her illness.

Miller said he e-mailed his older brother days before their mother died, telling him of her grave condition. He has not heard back, nor did his brother comment when contacted by the Times.

Last month, however, Ms. Miller received a letter from him. She mailed it to her younger son to open, feeling too weak to handle an attack. Hugh Miller called her to read a passage from it.

"(He) said he opened it and thought I would like to hear the first paragraph," she wrote to a reporter. " "Dear Mom, I know that some of my actions in the last few years have been hurtful, so I wanted to say that I am sorry for causing pain, especially to people I love, like you. I know what pain is like and I don't like to be a carrier. My sincerest apologies.' "

The letter then veered into a less upbeat tone. She knew it was doubtful she would live to see a resolution. But the glimmer of hope gave her comfort.

"This does mean a lot to me. He addressed me "Dear Mom" and also signed it "Love, Chris." And he included the phrase about people he loves. I'm so grateful for that.

"Maybe someday! Maybe someday . . ."

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