“Mommy, do you have to go on your business trip?” my five-year old son’s eyes looked at me for an answer I could not give.
“I’m so sorry, hijo; Mommy has to go. A lot of people are counting on me to be there. My trip is really, really very important.” I tried to sound convincing, even if in my mind, a personal battle raged.
Do I really have to go? The U.S. headquarters is filled with many able-bodied people with the same skills as me.
But they wouldn’t have asked for my help, if they could handle the problem themselves, now would they?
I shook the voices out of my head and enveloped my son in a tight embrace.
“Now, anak, if there’s an emergency,” I kissed my son’s forehead, “you can call me at the Hall of Justice. I left the trunkline number on the fridge. Make sure you talk to the Wonder Twins, okay? Don’t talk to the monkey — he never gives me my messages.” I reached for the jewelry box on my dresser and held the smooth black rock within — it felt heavier than it was. “Tito Ding will drop by later to take you and yaya to school. I’ll fly back as soon as the job’s done.”
The sight of my son on my bed with this head down, his spirit defeated, drained me of the strength I needed to do my job. It’s a wonder how I managed to put that rock in my mouth, shout “Darna!” and fly out the window.