Dear Son,

I am writing this slow, cause I know you can't read fast.

We don't live where we did when you left, your Dad read
in the paper where most accidents happen within twenty
miles of home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you
the address as the last Mississippi family that lived here
took the numbers with them for their next house, so they
wouldn't have to change their address.

This place has a washing machine, it's small. The first
day I put four shirts in it, pulled the chain, hadn't seen
'em since.

It only rained twice this week, three days the first time,
and four days he second time.

The coat you wanted me to send to you, your Aunt Sue
said it would be a little to heavy to send in the mail with
them heavy buttons, so we cut them off and put them in
the pockets.

We got a bill from the Funeral Home, said if we didn't
make the last payment on Grandma's funeral... up she
comes.

About your father, he has a new job, he has five hundred
men under him, he's cutting grass at the cemetery.

About your sister, she had a baby this morning, haven't
found out whether it's a boy or a girl, so I don't know if
you are an Aunt or an Uncle.

Your Uncle Joe fell in a whiskey vat. Some men tried to
pull him out, but he fought them off, so he drowned. We
cremated him, he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pickup, one
was driving the other two were in the back. The driver
got out. He rolled the window down and swam to safety.
The other two drowned, they couldn't get the tailgate
down.

Not much news this time, nothing much happened.

Write more often.
* 
Love,
Ma
* 
P.S. I was going to send you some money, but the
envelope was already sealed.