Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,

Merry Christmas to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my Grandchildren. Lord knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies. But then, I guess you two do save a lot of money shopping for their clothes at the Salvation Army surplus stores and all.

Thank you so much for the Christmas flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral, so Aunt Viola and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would never let you come. Why, I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she?

Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I broke my cane beating off a gang of muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and actually kind-of grateful since the frost on my bed numbs my constant pain. Now don't you even think about sending any more money, because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations you take every year; as well as all those designer clothes your gold-digger demands you buy her. Give my love to my darling Grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is -- the one with the black roots who stole you screaming and kicking from a loving home, and dragged you up to that God forsaken lawless Sodom she calls a state.

Merry Christmas. Love, Mom