Mama's Jeans

My mother was in the hospital. I sat alongside her bed, heart pained to see her so still. She’s a mover and a shaker. Runs circles around me. I’m cut more from my father’s cloth. Quiet and reserved.

God crafted Mama with spunk.

“How are you doing, Mom?” I asked. “Do you need some water?”

She nodded and breathed hard. Pneumonia had hit her fast.

I gave her a sip and rested my hand on her sweet forehead. She was feverish.

I wasn’t surprised.

“Are you too warm?” I asked. “Do you want me to pull the blanket back?”

Mom nodded. I tugged the nubby white blanket, leaving Mama covered only by the thin, white sheet.

Through the sheet, I could see her jeans.

I laughed.

“Mom, are you wearing your jeans? Under your hospital gown?”

Mama smiled. “I won’t be here long. I want to be ready to go,” she whispered.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I sat in robin’s- egg- blue chair and shook my head.

My mother. I love her determination. Her energy. Her tireless get-up-and-go. She’s strong willed to the hilt. For a small woman, she packs a lot of punch. I wondered how she, weak as a pup, managed to keep her get-away clothes when the nurses prepared her for admission.

I hope that my boys have Mama’s spunk, in strong, wise measure. I hope that they will be determined, strong willed for things pleasing to the Lord, and full of drive for what they’ll need to accomplish.

Guess you can’t keep a good woman down, I thought as I reached out and squeezed Mama’s hand.

May the same be true for my men.

I think it will be.

It’s in their genes.