Fox News anchor Johnny “Joey” Jones is known for his strength and resilience on screen, but now he’s sharing the deeply personal story he’s kept private—until now. In an emotional interview, Joey opens up about losing his father and the devastating accident that forever changed the course of his life. What really happened that day, and how did it shape the man he is today? Joey’s candid revelations promise to inspire, shock, and move you in ways you never expected. This is the untold story everyone needs to hear.

If you’ve ever watched Fox News and seen Johnny “Joey” Jones on your screen, you probably know him as the tough, straight-talking Marine-turned-anchor with a signature Southern drawl and a smile that seems to say he’s seen it all. But behind those calm eyes and that confident voice is a story so harrowing, so deeply human, and so heartbreakingly raw that it’s almost hard to believe one man could endure so much and still stand tall. This is the untold story of the accident that changed Joey Jones’s life forever, the crushing heartbreak of losing his beloved father, and the quiet pain of loss that never quite goes away—no matter how strong you are or how brightly the studio lights shine.

It was a day like any other in Afghanistan, or at least as normal as it gets in a war zone. Joey Jones, then a young Marine, was doing what he did best—leading, protecting, and training his fellow Marines to spot the d3adly IEDs that littered the dusty roads. He’d always said a good day was when they were bored, just training, just talking, just surviving. But on a bad day, he warned, something went wrong. And on one unforgettable day in 2010, everything did.

The world changed for Joey in a split second. One wrong step, one hidden explosive, and suddenly the future he’d imagined was blown apart—literally. The blast was so powerful, so violent, that it was captured on camera by a CBS News crew embedded with his unit. In the footage, you can see the chaos, the panic, the desperate scramble as Joey and his friend Daniel Greer are carried away on stretchers, their lives hanging in the balance. And yet, in the midst of that horror, Joey’s first thoughts weren’t for himself. He knew, instantly, that he’d lost both legs. He could see the blood, feel the numbness, sense the cold grip of shock setting in. But even then, as the pain began to creep in and the world blurred around him, he was already thinking about his brothers-in-arms, about the mission, about staying alive—not just for himself, but for everyone who loved him.

What’s truly astonishing about Joey Jones isn’t just that he survived the blast, or that he managed to claw his way back from the edge of d3ath. It’s the way he talks about it now, years later, with a kind of grace and gratitude that’s almost impossible to fathom. In the sterile halls of Bethesda Naval Hospital, as cameras rolled and the world watched, Joey looked straight into the lens and said, “I didn’t lose my legs. I was given a second chance at life.” Think about that for a moment. Most of us would be angry, bitter, broken. But Joey saw hope, saw possibility, saw a new beginning where others would have seen only an ending.

But make no mistake—his recovery was anything but easy. The physical pain was relentless, a constant battle that would have broken lesser men. Coming off the heavy medications was agony, and the phantom pains—those cruel, invisible reminders of limbs that were no longer there—were even worse. “Sometimes it felt like someone was twisting my foot around, trying to pop it off,” he once said, describing the excruciating, senseless torment that haunted his nights. But the physical pain, as bad as it was, paled in comparison to the psychological scars.

Because Joey Jones didn’t just lose his legs that day. He lost a friend, a brother, a fellow Marine. Daniel Greer, who had been by his side in the blast, didn’t make it. The grief was overwhelming, the guilt suffocating. Joey has spoken openly about the crushing weight of survivor’s guilt, the endless questions that gnaw at his soul. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe I didn’t do enough stuff right,” he confessed in a moment of painful honesty. For months, even years, he wrestled with the knowledge that he was alive while Greer was not. “Life gets easier, the prosthetics get easier. Understanding that Corporal Greer is gone for good doesn’t. It never will. Never.”

And yet, through it all, Joey has made it his mission to honour Daniel Greer’s memory. Every year, on what he calls his “Alive Day”—the anniversary of the explosion that nearly killed him—Joey takes the spotlight off himself and shines it on Greer. In 2022, during a Fox News commemoration, he hijacked the segment to talk about the man who gave his life to save others. Greer was a new husband, a new father, a hero in every sense of the word. “When I stepped on an IED, it took my legs—it took his life,” Joey said, his voice cracking with emotion. He credits Greer not just with saving him that day, but with inspiring him to keep going, to use his platform to make a difference, to speak for those who can’t.

And still, the pain lingers. In 2024, Joey marked his Alive Day with another tribute to Greer, sharing on X (formerly Twitter), “Today is a day of reflection and some sadness but not a celebration.” The wounds are still fresh, the loss still raw. For all the accolades, all the TV appearances, all the public praise, there’s a part of Joey that will never quite heal from the loss of his brother-in-arms.

But as if the scars of war weren’t enough, life dealt Joey another devastating blow in 2019. His father, the man who had shaped him, taught him, and loved him through it all, passed away suddenly. The pain was immediate, visceral, and all-consuming. Joey reached out to his followers on Instagram, pleading for prayers, sharing photos of happier times, clinging to the hope that his dad would pull through. But fate had other plans. Later that day, Joey’s world shattered once again as he shared the news that his father was gone.

The details of that day are almost too much to bear. In a gut-wrenching post, Joey revealed that he’d witnessed his father’s d3ath firsthand, that he’d performed CPR on the living room floor, that he’d been forced to make the impossible decision to let his father go. “Dad died in December here in my floor. I did CPR on him till the paramedics got here and I pulled the plug on him the next day,” he wrote, the words almost too painful to read. The grief was suffocating, the loss immeasurable.

Over the years, Joey has continued to share memories of his father, each post a bittersweet reminder of the love they shared and the void that remains. On his dad’s birthday, he posted a photo of them together, the caption both funny and heartbreaking: “The only thing he held tighter than a brick trowel (or a beer/cigarette) was the ones he loved.” The bond between them was unbreakable, and the loss is something Joey carries with him every single day. “I need you more now than ever,” he wrote, the words echoing the silent ache that never quite goes away.

But the tragedies didn’t stop there. In a brutally honest post on X in June 2024, Joey opened up about the relentless parade of losses that have marked his adult life. It started with his grandfather, who died when Joey was just 22. Then came the war, the friends lost in combat, the brothers who never came home. In the same year that he lost his dad, both his maternal and paternal grandmothers passed away as well. “It’s been a steady trickle since,” he wrote, the exhaustion and heartbreak evident in every word. “One of my two closest uncles has a few months left, and today another uncle died of a heart attack.” Not long after, the uncle who’d been given months to live also passed away, and Joey used his platform on Fox News’s “The Five” to pay tribute, remembering his uncle Troy as the first in the family to go to college, a gentle giant who loved fiercely and lived fully. “We love you, Troy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

It’s almost unimaginable, the sheer weight of loss that Joey Jones has carried from the age of 22 to 37. “Perhaps the worst part of aging are these seasons of d3ath. From 22-37 my entire social construct has felt as if it’s going extinct. I hope it eases soon,” he wrote, a plea for peace that anyone who’s ever lost someone they love will understand. Through it all, Joey has never pretended to be invincible. He’s shared his pain, his grief, his doubts, and his fears with a candor that is as rare as it is refreshing.

And yet, for all the heartbreak, for all the loss, Joey Jones remains a beacon of hope and resilience. He’s used his platform not just to tell his own story, but to honour those he’s lost, to remind us all that grief is the price we pay for love, that pain is a sign that we’ve truly lived. He’s become a voice for veterans, for families, for anyone who’s ever faced the unthinkable and found a way to keep going.

In a world that so often worships at the altar of superficiality, Joey Jones is the real deal—a man who has stared d3ath in the face, who has lost more than most of us can imagine, and who still finds a way to smile, to laugh, to love. His story is a testament to the power of the human spirit, a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there is light, there is hope, there is a reason to keep fighting.

So the next time you see Johnny “Joey” Jones on your television, remember the journey he’s taken to get there. Remember the sacrifices, the heartbreaks, the battles fought and lost and won. Remember the father who taught him to be strong, the friend who gave his life so Joey could live, the family members whose memories he carries with him every day. Remember that behind every smile, every joke, every moment of confidence, there is a story of unimaginable pain—and unimaginable strength.

Because if Joey Jones has taught us anything, it’s that life is fragile, love is precious, and every day is a gift. We may never truly heal from our losses, but we can honour them. We can keep going. We can live, and love, and remember. And sometimes, that’s enough.