The Re-parenting Dance

          Summer is when I miss Byrne Miller the most. Maybe it's the flowing clothes that catch the breeze, or the near nakedness of swimming in the creek outside her house. It's the season for abandoning pretensions and inhibitions and the heavy, sticky heat of it reminds me of the woman who freed me. Until I met her, I was a little ball of guilt, trying to fix or placate my far-from-perfect parents. She was already in her 80s and had given up on that foolishness since before I was born. 

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