Dear Son, I Am Writing This Slow, 'cause I Know You Can't Read Fast.

Dear Son,
I am writing this slow, 'cause I know you can't read fast.
There are a few things happening here at home. We don't live where we did
when you left -- you're father read in the paper that most car accidents happen
within twenty miles of home, so we moved. I won't be able to send you the
address because we moved into your cousins old house and they took the numbers
with them so they wouldn't have to change their address.
The new place has a washing machine! It's in a small room that also has a
shower in it. The first day, I put four shirts in. I pressed the lever and I
haven't seen them since.
The weather is nice here. It rained twice this week. Three days the first
time and four days the second time.
Remember that coat you wanted me to send you? Well, your aunt said that it
would be too heavy to send in the mail, so we cut the buttons off and put them
in the pocket.
Monday we got a bill from the funeral home. It said if we don't make the
last payment on Grandma's funeral ... up she comes ...
Your father has a lovely new job. He has over 500 men under him. He's
cutting grass at the cemetery.
Your brother's wife had a baby this morning. We don't know whether it's a
boy or a girl, so we don't know if you are an aunt or an uncle.
Your uncle fell in the whiskey vat and drowned. We cremated him. He burned
for 3 days.
Last week 3 of your friends went off the bridge in a pickup truck. One was
driving and the other two were riding in the back. The driver rolled down the
window and swam to safety. The other two drowned. They couldn't get the
tailgate down.
Not much else. Write more often.
Love,
Mom

P.S. -- We would have sent money, but the envelope was already sealed.