Our Story

April 16, 2012

On April 16, we discovered that we were expecting a baby. Our due date was December 4, and our hearts immediately filled with excitement and dreams for the future.

Our first appointments went wonderfully, with no indication that anything was wrong. We were overjoyed knowing that another baby Jones would soon be joining our family.

After being blessed 12 years earlier with our wonderful son, Robert, I had longed for another child for so long. Robert was just as excited as we were. He couldn’t wait to become a big brother.

July 19, 2012

On July 19, everything changed.

I began bleeding and was placed on bed rest while we waited for my upcoming ultrasound. I remember being scared. I remember praying. I remember begging my baby to stay with me.

I had already dreamed about the life we would share with this little one. I wasn’t ready for those dreams to change.

July 26, 2012

We were excited to finally have our ultrasound. AJ, Robert, and I went to the hospital together to see our baby.

AJ had chosen not to find out the baby’s sex, but Robert and I couldn’t wait to know. We entered the ultrasound room filled with anticipation. I could see my baby on the large screen, but in my excitement, I didn’t realize that something was terribly wrong.

There was no heartbeat.

The technician left the room and returned with the doctor. By then, AJ had stepped out because we were preparing to find out whether our baby was a boy or a girl.

Instead, the doctor looked at me, looked at the screen, and gently told me words that would change our lives forever:

“I’m sorry, but your child is dead.”

There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after.

That was ours.

Everything that followed became a blur. I remember screaming. I remember Robert jumping into my arms. I remember AJ standing beside me, quietly holding my hand.

In that moment, our excitement turned into unimaginable heartbreak.

I was given the choice to wait for labor to begin naturally or to be induced. I chose induction.

I was taken to Labor and Delivery, and I will always be grateful that the hospital brought me to a quiet area away from the sounds and activity of other families welcoming their babies into the world. I needed that quiet. I needed a place where my heartbreak could exist without feeling like I had to hide it.

Tests were performed in hopes of finding an explanation for why our baby had died.

There were no answers.

Sometimes, the hardest part of loss is not only losing your child, but having to live with the questions that may never be answered.

July 28, 2012

On July 28, my son, Matthew Aaron Jones, silently entered the world.

There was no newborn cry.

No first breath.

No sound announcing his arrival.

The only crying that could be heard that night came from me.

The only scream came from me.

My son was silent.

But he was here.

He was my son.

He was Robert’s little brother.

He was AJ’s child.

He was deeply loved.

And he would forever be a part of our family.

Matthew’s death changed me in ways I could never have imagined. It changed the way I saw pregnancy, birth, motherhood, grief, and the families who experience the unimaginable loss of a baby.

I began to understand something I had never understood before:

Families should never have to walk through the death of a baby feeling alone.

They deserve compassion.

They deserve resources.

They deserve someone who understands that their baby mattered.

They deserve to hear their baby’s name spoken.

They deserve to grieve without judgment.

And they deserve to know that even in the darkest moments, someone is willing to sit beside them in that darkness.

That is where Mattie’s Memory began.

It began with Matthew.

It began with love.

It began with loss.

And it grew from one mother’s heartbreak into a promise that no family should have to face the loss of a baby without support, compassion, and someone saying:

“Your baby mattered. Your baby is loved. And you are not alone.”