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Vada Jain
Vada was my grandmother’s name who died after picking a pail of blackberries back in 1931 when she was twenty-two years old. Those blackberries kept my two-year old mother alive until she was found...voir plusVada was my grandmother’s name who died after picking a pail of blackberries back in 1931 when she was twenty-two years old. Those blackberries kept my two-year old mother alive until she was found two days later inside their cabin on Crites Mountain. My grandfather was killed in a coal mining accident, so I knew neither of them except through the words of Vada’s brother, my great uncle who had Indian heritage and raised my mother.
When I was a child my mother and dad and I sometimes traveled to Baltimore where I was born and where his sisters lived, via Route 33 that took us past the Seneca Rocks, a truly remarkable and
awe-inspiring site. My story is about growing up in West Virginia with my paternal grandparents, uncles and aunts and cousins, of those who survived the great depression into the days of Camelot.
My first vision of Jesus was when I was twelve, and then the second was when I was forty-five, and the reason why I’m telling this story and why I’ve chosen to use my grandmother’s name as a pen name for this book. My mother was the only one who never questioned the validity of my visions. Her name was Mona, the most beautiful woman God ever created.voir moins