Educated

It was a bright May afternoon when we all piled into a large van and set off
on the hour-long drive. I was uncomfortably aware that I had taken my
mother’s place, going with her siblings and her remaining parent on an outing
to remember her mother, a grandmother I had not known well. I soon realized
that my not knowing her was wonderful for her children, who were bursting
with remembrances and loved answering questions about her. With every
story my grandmother came into sharper focus, but the woman taking shape
from their collective memories was nothing like the woman I remembered. It
was then I realized how cruelly I had judged her, how my perception of her
had been distorted, because I’d been looking at her through my father’s harsh
lens.
During the drive back, my aunt Debbie invited me to visit her in Utah. My
uncle Daryl echoed her. “We’d love to have you in Arizona,” he said. In the
space of a day, I had reclaimed a family—not mine, hers.
The funeral was the next day. I stood in a corner and watched my siblings
trickle in.
There were Tyler and Stefanie. They had decided to home school their
seven children, and from what I’d seen, the children were being educated to a
very high standard. Luke came in next, with a brood so numerous I lost
count. He saw me and crossed the room, and we made small talk for several
minutes, neither of us acknowledging that we hadn’t seen each other in half a
decade, neither of us alluding to why. Do you believe what Dad says about
me? I wanted to ask. Do you believe I’m dangerous? But I didn’t. Luke
worked for my parents, and without an education, he needed that job to
support his family. Forcing him to take a side would only end in heartache.
Richard, who was finishing a PhD in chemistry, had come down from
Oregon with Kami and their children. He smiled at me from the back of the
chapel. A few months before, Richard had written to me. He’d said he was
sorry for believing Dad, that he wished he’d done more to help me when I
needed it, and that from then on, I could count on his support. We were
family, he said.
Audrey and Benjamin chose a bench near the back. Audrey had arrived
early, when the chapel was empty. She had grabbed my arm and whispered
that my refusing to see our father was a grave sin. “He is a great man,” she
said. “For the rest of your life you will regret not humbling yourself and
following his counsel.” These were the first words my sister had said to me in
years, and I had no response to them.