DALTON — The raucous blast propelled Joey Jones skyward to the heavens.

When his battered body landed on the arid Afghanistan soil, he wondered if he would soon be in heaven.

Seconds earlier Jones, a Marine Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) technician and Dawnville native, stepped on a homemade bomb. That instant forever changed his life.

His legs were gone. His arms were maimed. His right hand was hanging by its skin. Bleeding profusely with tourniquets on seemingly every part of his body, he turned to God.

“I asked another Marine to pray with me,” Jones said last week recalling the events during a telephone interview from his hospital bed in Maryland. “I prayed the Lord’s Prayer, prayed for my family. I told him if I didn’t make it to let my son and my girlfriend that I love a lot and my parents know how much I cared about them and I thought about them if I passed.”

Jones survived the explosion and its aftermath. He’s currently in Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington, D.C., undergoing extensive rehabilitation. At the same time, he’s  re-establishing bonds with his family, girlfriend and one-year-old son, Braiden.



Semper Fi

Growing up in Dawnville, Jones didn’t dream of being in the military. After graduating Southeast High School in 2004, Jones was 18 and driving a Hyster at Beaulieu of America. He was also taking classes at Dalton State College. He decided to join the Marine Corps after his two best friends at the time enlisted, one in the Army and one the Marine Corps Reserves. Jones graduated from boot camp in April 2005 and re-enlisted for another four years.

During his time in the Marines, he served in a variety of roles, from a “nerdy” desk job as a communications technician to a machine gunner in a security detail. While part of an EOD security detail for several months, he began looking at the members as “heroes.” That’s when he chose a new career path in the military.

To become a part of the 1st EOD company based in Pendleton, Calif., Jones completed nearly a year-long course from July 2008 through June 2009. There, he studied in the classroom and in the field aspects of nuclear, conventional and biological explosives along with their electronic components. He deployed to Afghanistan last spring.

In June, Jones and his Marine Fox Company were featured on ABC’s “Nightline” news program. A news crew followed Jones and his partner through an Afghanistan town as they prepared to detonate a roadside bomb. He talked about working in tandem.

“We talk a lot or we don’t talk at all, but we always know what each other is up to and is about to do,” he said.

Little did Jones know he would again be featured on the television news.



The life-changing blast

In early August, Jones was part of a two-man EOD team assigned to the southern Afghanistan town of Safar Bazaar. The military had not occupied the town, and about 300 Marines were sent in to secure the area. Intelligence reported the Taliban was using the town to traffic IED components. The homemade explosives “were everywhere,” Jones said. Jones and his partner were charged with clearing the IEDs.

The town is set up much like a flea market. Large buildings made of mud and steel beams are lined with garage doors. Dirt roads crisscross the area. The EOD team used explosive line charges to detonate IEDs and expose them along the roads. However, the strong blasts destroyed some of the garages.

After five days of clearing more than 40 bombs, Jones had been “working nonstop.” He and his partner were the only IED team in the village.

“They had multiple operations going on at once so I would be helping one platoon, then I would get a call to help another platoon,” Jones said. “Back and forth, all in the area of four or five football fields. It wasn’t stretched out too far, just a lot going on at one time.”

On day six — Aug. 6  — Marines started clearing the garages damaged by the bomb blasts. Jones was called into an area because a Marine engineer found an IED component. Avoiding the front entrance to the compound because those are more apt to be booby-trapped, Jones entered through the back door. The compound was sectioned off with a three-foot wall. Jones cleared the compound and found no IEDs, only items to make them. He then called on a Marine specialist to check the IED component for fingerprints to attempt to trace the device.

“While we were waiting, I basically leaned over that three-foot tall wall,” Jones said. “We had security all around us and there was nobody in sight as far as militants go. We were in this really relaxed posture. We were just waiting on those guys to get there. Once we saw them coming in from the distance from about 30 yards away, we said we’d step off and go back. Well, as soon as I pushed off the wall, my first foot hit the deck, that’s when the IED was detonated.”

Jones never lost consciousness during the ordeal. He clearly recalled the post-blast scene.

“Everything went silent and white it seemed for a few seconds,” Jones said. “I felt myself get thrown to the air but it was so instantaneous and it was almost like one of those out of body experiences. Then I landed. I landed on my back. I was looking down at my legs. I saw they were gone. Then the noise came back, then the pain set in. I knew my legs were gone and the Marines jumped on me right away and put the tourniquets on so I knew my legs were being taken care of. So I started looking at the rest of my body. I saw that my right hand was pretty much being held on by the skin and I told them, ‘Hey, wrap up my arm, protect my arm, I don’t want to lose my hand.’ They wrapped my arm up and had tourniquets on my legs. I began to go into a little bit of shock, but I felt myself going into shock. I was very conscious and aware.”

Aware enough to give his “kill number” — his initials, duty, last four digits of his Social Security number and blood type — used to identify soldiers. The doctor arrived and began giving Jones morphine. Jones asked for more. He was then placed on a Medevac helicopter and whisked away.

A CBS “Evening News” crew followed Jones and two other Marines during the operation. Jones is shown checking on fellow Marines after a bomb explodes, diffusing a roadside bomb and chatting with CBS News correspondent Terry McCarthy. Before Jones left to assist fellow Marines with an IED, McCarthy said, “Be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” Jones said with a smile.

The blast that injured Jones was caught on tape.

Cpl. Daniel Greer, of the 4th Combat Engineer Battalion, suffered a serious brain injury. He later died. Staff Sgt. Eric Chir, also a bomb expert, had serious shrapnel wounds.

After the explosion, controlled chaos reigned. Greer was stretchered off. Jones followed.

Sgt. Matthew Jackson, 1st EOD Company, 1st Marine Logistics Group spoke, to McCarthy after the explosion

“Best friends,” Jackson said of the injured Marines. “You kind of have to stay static on it right now. I mean, later it will take effect. Right now, we’ve had a relatively rough summer but you’ve just gotta keep grinding and this will come to when I get back. You know, when you have time to think.”

Jackson also completed the post-blast analysis.

“There was just something they didn’t see,” he said. “It was nobody’s fault. That’s just how it happens.”

The next few days are fuzzy since Jones was sedated. He woke up in a military hospital in Germany with “tubes going everywhere.” He remained there for two days where his condition was stabilized. Then he was flown to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., and spent seven to 10 days in intensive care. The first few days were torture because doctors couldn’t continue the strong pain medication he was on in Germany. It took several days to finally manage the pain to a level he could tolerate.



Day by day

Jones has made physical strides daily. This week, doctors transferred him to Walter Reed for continued physical therapy and rehabilitation. He spent almost a month at the National Naval Medical Center. The pain — which doctors once described as “humanly unbearable” — is much better, under control. The wounds at the base of his legs have healed, but the trauma to his arms will take more time. His right hand has “very little function” and his left wrist is “in bad shape.” He has received several skin grafts.

The fact that his rehabilitation will be a long and arduous process isn’t lost on Jones. He understands the reality of recovering from such a harrowing event. Doctors haven’t set specific goals for Jones to meet by a certain time.

“Not really, because everyone’s so different and you run into so many different things, there will be roadblocks along the way, so they don’t really put a timeline on it,” he said. “I can tell you it will be months — a couple months.”

That doesn’t mean Jones lacks personal goals. He faces a new challenge in the physical therapy room almost daily and his mindset is simple: do everything I can.

“If today she has to help me move a certain way, tomorrow I don’t want her to have to help me,” Jones said. “I want to do it myself. And I get by with those things, keeping that in mind a lot.”

A milestone in his recovery recently came when Jones was given a wheelchair to move around the hospital. He can’t ride in a traditional wheelchair because of his injured hand, so he is using an electric wheelchair to attend breakfast and the different places throughout the hospital he needs for occupational therapy, physical therapy and X-rays. Jones said the wheelchair has given him mobility, but not independence.

“I still depend on people way more than I want to,” Jones said. “Eventually I’ll be able to do things for myself and that’s my biggest goal.”

The hospital staffs have played an important role in his recovery. He has yet to come across a doctor, therapist or nurse unwilling to help him.



A typical day

At the Navy hospital in Bethesda, Jones had a regimented routine. Beginning at 5 a.m. each morning a parade of doctors and nurses — orthopedic leg team, orthopedic hand team, pain team, ear, nose and throat specialists, urologist, dentists — came by his room in 15 to 20 minute increments. Breakfast was brought to his room at 7:30 and he would wake up between then and 8 a.m. His first round of daily medications followed an hour later. Then he would begin a hygiene routine that included wiping himself down and putting his clothes on. Once that was finished, he checked his Facebook page and caught up on cell phone calls and text messages. Then he would relax by watching television and perhaps complete a few exercises.

Lunch was served at noon, followed by two hours of therapy from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m., with another round of medication in-between. At 3 p.m., he took a nap and would wake up between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. But his naps were often cut short by visitors.

Random strangers. Military officials. Friends from high school. Fellow EOD technicians. The second highest ranking officer in the Marine Corps.

Jones has a box full of military challenge coins, which high-ranking officials give out to boost morale. He received a Purple Heart earlier this month during a hospital bedside ceremony that included Gen. James F. Amos, the assistant commandant of the Marine Corps, and several EOD technicians. Each interaction makes an impact on Jones. But visits from EOD members are especially memorable because they understand.

“They know the guilt that I feel, they know the disappointment I feel because it’s an addiction,” Jones said. “Once you do a deployment as an EOD tech or work as an EOD tech you don’t ever want to stop. You don’t ever want to not be one. To think that you’re seriously unable to do it anymore is disappointing.”

The EOD techs deploy as a group of 30 or 40, then are broken into two-man teams.

“These guys are like your best friends,” Jones said. “It’s like taking a football team to Afghanistan. We work together, we hang out together, we know each other left and right because we never know which tech we’re going to work with. We have to know each other so we become best friends.”

That’s why losing a fellow EOD technician hurts the entire fraternity. One of his best friends died 23 days after the blast that injured Jones. Floyd Holley, a gunnery sergeant and native of Florida, died Aug. 29 from a homemade bomb blast in Afghanistan's Helmand province during his third tour of duty in the Middle East.

“I ate at his house last Thanksgiving,” Jones said. “He had a baby on the way and a beautiful family. Just talking about it right now brings a tear to me eye. It’s hard to believe that he’s gone.”



Support from home

The Maryland hospital room Jones called home for almost a month was decorated with cards from all over the country. Many were from Whitfield County addresses. The reaction from friends and complete strangers has reaffirmed to Jones “how many good people are in the world.” Cards flooded in from Hawaii, Oregon, Wisconsin and most points in-between. Jones’ mother, Joyce, said the influx of support has meant a lot to the family.

“People we never have heard of before have sent cards thanking him for his sacrifice,” Joyce Jones said. “It’s really been amazing.”

The words of encouragement have almost overwhelmed Jones.

“The support he’s received has been very uplifting for him,” sister Marsha Jones said. “He asks us sometimes, ‘Why is everyone so concerned about me?’ We tell him that he’s had a huge impact on so many people and they want to show him their support.”

Several fundraisers have been held for the Jones family, with more scheduled. “Joey Days” took place at the Dawnville Recreation Department on Saturday. There’s a benefit singing at Macedonia Baptist Church on Oct. 2. A group is raising money to build an 1,100-square-foot, handicapped accessible home next to his parents’ house.

“I don’t want a dime from anyone, just the fact they’re willing to say ‘hello’ and ‘get well soon’ means more to me than all the money in the world,” Jones said. “That gives me the strength to carry on. I can’t let these people down. There’s no way. They’ve shown me what I was fighting for. They showed me the home I remembered. I’m fighting for my country, but my country is Dalton, Georgia. My home is Dalton, Georgia. What I know and what I love is Dalton, Georgia. For the people of Dalton, Georgia, to come to my rescue puts me in awe. I don’t know what to say. It’s surreal. I would gladly put my life on the line for everyone in my hometown.”



Good times, bad times

Every day is a new challenge for Jones. Every day is difficult. Every day is rewarding.

He understood the possibility of being injured, the possibility of being killed, because he was literally walking into a mine field. But he knew the job had to be done. Jones has come to terms with himself and the limitations on his body. All he wants is to be able to function enough to be independent and be able to take care of his son.

“I don’t have good days and bad days,” Jones said. “I have good times and bad times. Every day at some point during the day I allow myself the opportunity to break down, cry, mourn over what I’ve lost, and then I put myself together and realize everything I still have and didn’t lose. How lucky I am to still be alive and how wonderful my family and my son are. And I keep going. I stay motivated. I understand what’s going on and I will have a life and I’ve got to be able to live it.”

He leans on his parents, sister and girlfriend, Meg Garrison, for strength. His parents, Joey and Joyce, raised him with “a big heart and strong mind.” They also taught him the meaning of responsibility.

“My mom and dad have gone without to see me have what I want,” Jones said. “I’ve never been without what I needed and got most of what I wanted. They’ve always been there for me, even when they were in pain. That’s the type of person I’ve become. I have a son and people that need me so it would be selfish to sit here and feel sorry for myself. My mom and dad taught me better than that.”



The unknown future

Despite the battle scars, Jones plans to return to the military and Afghanistan — as an EOD technician. He is working with Marine officials on a proposal to return as a bilateral amputee. He wouldn’t be able to work on the front line, but he is confident in being able to conduct range sweeps. But Jones is more eager to return as an instructor.

“If I can go back and train EOD techs and share my experience with them, maybe some of them won’t get hurt because of that,” Jones said. “Why would I not want to help other Marines stay safe and not get hurt?”

Why return to the same job and circumstances that led to his injury?

“My job didn’t take my legs,” Jones said. “An IED took my legs. A Taliban militant took my legs, not my job. I stepped on an IED. Any Marine could have stepped on that IED. I just happened to be on a call when it happened. I’m not afraid, I guess, of going back to do my job because I have the knowledge and confidence to do it right.”

There are days when Jones sits alone in his hospital bed dreaming about the future. Getting married. Watching his son play football, just like dad did. But Jones doesn’t dwell on the future. There are plenty of obstacles, pain and healing to go through.

He’s reconnected with his girlfriend. He’s spent countless hours with his son. He’s re-established bonds with his family. These are all steps Jones thought would happen when he returned from Afghanistan when his deployment ended.

Jones lost his legs, but gained much more.

“Words can’t describe how much closer I’ve got to them, how this has brought us together in good ways,” Jones said. “If I had to choose between my legs or having the relationship I now have with the people I love, I would just as soon not have my legs. I can’t say I’m a happier person, but I am a happy person because I do have the people that I care about most in my life around me.”