Pro-life movement deals in caricatures, not real life: Shannon Dingle

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The summer of 2019 was full of surprises. The first was hard-earned: My husband was promoted to president of his engineering firm at age 37. Seeing that lifetime goal realized was pure joy.

Two weeks later, we drove three hours east to vacation at the beach for a week. It was Lee, our six children, ages 7-12, and me. It was relaxing and jubilant, until it wasn’t. On July 18, 2019, a wave struck my husband with such force that his neck broke as his head hit the packed sand. Most of the kids witnessed the accident. He would not be declared dead until 24 hours later, but I knew almost immediately. 

As we returned home, a family of seven rather than the family of eight that arrived at the beach less than a week earlier, friends carried me and the kids through all the next steps, from choosing a casket and burial site to learning how to access our joint bank account. And then, as the funeral passed and the next week wore on, another surprise became undeniable.


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