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The question that ties me up is this: Should I allow my parents to watch the children alone?
For the past seven years, that answer has been a definitive “no.” Before that, I did. I allowed my eldest to stay with them, with the condition that my mother always be present.
And then one day I explained this arrangement to my counselor, who knew my family’s history. “My mom will keep things under control,” I told her. “She’ll protect my daughter from anything my dad might try.”
My doctor’s answer still chills me. “Just like she protected you?”
Those five words sent me into a months-long nose dive. I had to reevaluate how I related to my family; it goes without saying that the answers I came up with did not please them.
My parents would like to believe that my restrictions on alone time exist to punish them. Or that I’ve made the rules for my own convenience. “For my own convenience?” I ask them, incredulous.
Don’t they know how much I’d love to be able to trust them? To depend on them to take care of my kids? Or even follow through in a predictable manner with me?
They argue that God has forgiven them for any sins they committed some thirty years ago, and that if God can forgive, I should be able to also. They remind me solemnly that they won’t be here much longer; they don’t want me later to regret this later.
Their arguments don’t sway me, not even a little bit.
If I were to leave my kids with their grandparents, chance are that everything would be fine. The likelihood is good they’d know better than to abuse the trust they’d been given.
Probably.
And that’s the problem. Probably isn’t good enough.



