Will you ever stop loving us? Or is it a matter of when?

TV programmes are getting increasingly gory and depressing these days.

Watched a series of violence/gore/blood-filled TV series yesterday night ("Monk", followed by remnants of "House", then "Nip / Tuck".) What really got to me was the scene where one of the female leads said to a female corspe which (whom?) she thought was her mom. Monologue went something like this:

Remember when I was five... you had an argument with Dad.

You said: "Let's leave." We held hands and walked a long time, till we arrived at a park...

You held my face in between your hands and said: "I love you, my little girl."

I said: "I love you too mommy."

At that time, that moment, we both knew we meant it.

Until one day, we both don't mean it anymore.

I'm glad you're dead. I don't need to have your approval anymore.

Sob sob sob...

Don't all of us have some misgivings about our parents? The degree of bitterness and resentment varies. Mix this with our love (or what's left of it) and duty to our parents, and you get a kaleidoscope of emotions--pretty in a way, yet fundamentally distorted.

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One day, I asked Kai: "I love you, Kai. Do you love mama?"

He turned up his little face and kissed me.