The day the music truly died for Conway Twitty wasn’t June 5, 1993. It was the day he lost the one person who understood him in ways the world never could: his mother, Velma Jenkins. From that moment on, Conway still sang of love and longing, still filled rooms with warmth and devotion — but something irreplaceable had gone quiet inside him. Velma wasn’t just his mother; she was his anchor, his first believer, the voice that knew who he was before the world ever learned his name. Some losses don’t silence the music. They teach it how to ache.
The day the music truly changed for Conway Twitty wasn’t June 5, 1993. It was…
Read More