This story is not easy, your heart will break, you will feel emotion, and that is by my intent. If you are of the faint of heart, I understand if you choose to stop reading at this point. But if you care to read on, it is my prayer that you will join me in fulfilling a promise I made to my son.
Twenty-two million men feel like they had no voice in the decision to abort their own children . . .
. . . and I’m one of them.
On December 3rd, 2021, my 20-week-old son, Moon Thompson Cory, was brutally killed in a Dilation and Evacuation abortion.
I had no idea.
I wasn’t even given the courtesy of even being told that my son was dead until 11 days after his death, after I applied pressure to my partner and her family.
Now, so you can comprehend the depths of my grief, let me tell you who I am.
Beyond anything else in this world, I am a father. I have five children. Two college graduates and a hard-working compassionate recent high school grad. I also have two little ones, Piper Liberty and Ronan Justice that I raise as a single father.
They all are my absolute world and I exist for their care, growth and education.
Moon is my sixth child and I was so excited to hold him, to feel him on my bare chest as he slept, and to sing him my lullaby that all of my other children have heard a thousand times over.
Moon’s mother is Shannon Thompson. She is a beautiful, intelligent and caring person who always wanted to be a mother.
When she came into my home, she cared for Piper and Ronan as her own and was passionate to do so . . . but she always wanted a child who was “just hers.”
In September of this year, we found out she was expecting.
I admit, I was scared. I’m an old Marine of 47 years, and the thought of keeping up with a child scared me. Could I do it? Would I have the energy? But it didn’t matter.
I began training my body and mind to prepare for my child, and within two months, I was in the best post-Marine Corps shape of my life. I was ready and turned my thoughts to preparing for my arrival of our son.
I know what it takes to raise an infant. The sleepless nights, the patience required, the juggling of so many other things in your life.
But as I prepared, Shannon, prepared in another way. She got closer and closer to her friends and family, leaving our home frequently for trips with them for up to a week at a time.
And during that time, I had no idea, she was preparing for something different.
You see, Shannon’s family is cultishly close, untraditional and wildly Leftist.
Shannon’s sister, Sarah Kurysz, rules the family with screaming demands of compliance from everyone. I had always found it extremely odd.
Early in my relationship with Shannon, I walked up to her office to hear her sister screaming at her over the phone over a quilt that needed repair. Sarah hurled a bevy of words at Shannon to overwhelm her with guilt and break her down to shaking tears.
I asked Shannon, “Why do you let her talk to you like that?” Shannon simply replied, “It’s okay, she’s my sister and she’s right.”
Shannon spent the next week in her office, feverishly sewing together a quilt at her sister’s demand.
Over a year later, I could only imagine what those conversations evolved into as Shannon expressed fear over having a child.
On November 10th, Shannon was preparing to leave our home to spend a few days with her mother, Cathy Thompson, an hour away from me in Richmond, Virginia.
That morning, Shannon was upset. After a discussion of which I forget the origin, Shannon yelled at me, “I don’t want to raise THREE children, I only want to raise THIS child,” as she placed her hand on our then 16-week-old son.
It was such a bizarre statement from Shannon as in our nearly two years together, we had not even had so much as an argument outside of politics which was always playful (at least for me).
It was, without question, the best and most loving relationship of my life.
But after her statement. I was perplexed, I have no option but to raise Piper and Ronan, and our growing son in her womb would also be a responsibility I was easily prepared to handle.
I told Shannon, “I’m not sure what to do about this, but why don’t you stay longer at your mother’s house and decide if you want to come back and be part of this family. Because Piper and Ronan are my children, I don’t have that option.”
That morning, Shannon left and never came back.
I didn’t hear her voice again for 38 days until we visited our son’s grave together.
After Shannon left my home, we communicated only over text. I found out that she had been discussing our relationship with all of her family members, friends, and even former love interests, to my exclusion.
In an unexpected turn, Shannon texted me that she wanted me to have “nothing to do” with my son and to just “leave . . us . . . alone.”
I was angry and for the first time in our relationship, I lashed out at Shannon saying that I wouldn’t just walk away from my son, and we would have to fight it out in court for joint custody.
My tone was the excuse she was looking for as a reason to leave for good – but she also used that as an excuse for something that I could have never imagined.
On December 1st, I was sitting in a parking lot and something hit me. I couldn’t imagine it, but I just had to ask her. I texted Shannon with caution, “Sorry to bring this up, but will you keep him?”
After that text was sent, I didn’t hear from her again.
I was frantic. For 13 days, I was a total basket case. I reached out to her only to have my messages blocked. I called her personal phone and work phone daily, but was scared of being accused of harassment.
She never answered.
I emailed her two addresses – nothing. I emailed her father, Chris, and texted her mother, Cathy, begging to know what was going on. Nothing.
My hands shook, my heart knew something was wrong, I prayed and pleaded with God throughout the day.
What most people don’t know is that men undergo physical changes when their partner is pregnant, to prepare themselves. It’s God’s way of getting us ready for fatherhood.
Our testosterone plummets to calm us, our estrogen increases, our prolactin levels increase so we’re more sensitive to the cries of a hungry child. God designed men to be caring, active and compassionate partners when their child arrives.
So, I could feel something was wrong.
Finally, when my calls for an answer from Shannon went into darkness for 10 days, I called my good friend and attorney Larry and told him what has happening.
I’m a private man, so this was hard to share, but Larry showed great compassion and said, “Shane, you HAVE to get more aggressive. Send her and her father an email and tell them you will file a protection order on behalf of your son if they don’t respond to you by noon tomorrow. Tell her you’ll make her and her family famous!”
Thankfully, Virginia laws do allow a protection order for unborn children, but it had never been used in this manner.
I emailed them that night. I was professional, yet begging for an update on Shannon’s health and the health of my son, as well as her intent.
At 10:26 am on December 14th, 2021, Shannon emailed me to say, “I am not pregnant anymore.”
She explained a memorial service was scheduled the next morning, but I was not invited. Shannon told me that his name was “Moon” and that he had died on December 3rd.
I had been left in the dark for eleven days after his death.
Dear reader, I have never felt the depths of grief like this. I could never imagine a pain so pervasive that would rock my body to its core – but I could not cry in front of Piper and Ronan.
That night, we kneeled for our nightly prayers. Each night we prayed for our family and “Little Bean,” their brother on the way.
But that night, we prayed for Moon.
I told them that I heard from Shannon and that their brother’s name was Moon, but unfortunately, he had died.
Ronan, my 7-year-old son’s jaw slacked and he slid off the couch. I had never seen that expression in him before. He had been so excited to have a brother, and Shannon had insisted telling the kids months before that.
My 8-year-old daughter Piper, asked, “how did he die?”
I said, “Baby, I don’t know.”
Ronan finally spoke and asked, “So he will never see the world?”
I said, “No, son, I am so sorry.”
After Piper and Ronan went to bed, I went into my bedroom and convulsed in tears. I cried in silence, passing out at 1 in the morning, only to wake up at 3 to do it all over again. I texted and emailed Shannon at 5 am, begging for her help.
I received no response.
The next day, Shannon, emailed again in the afternoon after the service with a sincere apology, “I should have never kept you away from our son’s memorial. I am so sorry.”
She agreed to meet me at his gravesite on Saturday and promised to tell me what happened.
For the remaining week, it was unclear if she miscarried at five months, or aborted (which was an unimaginable thought).
I still couldn’t understand. If she aborted, why bury him?
I called the cemetery to find out my son’s plot number and the caretaker said, “Oh yeah, we buried the last batch of babies on Wednesday by the mausoleum.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
He coldly said, “Yeah, it’s a mass grave, you’ll see it, look for the big mound of dirt.”
My heart stopped.
My sorrow continued until Saturday when I arrived at the cemetery.
Shannon was there as promised, curled on her knees, sobbing behind a large mound of dirt.
I laid down beside her and cried for hours.
I spoke to Moon.
I told him that he was perfect. He was without sin, and that he was in heaven beside Jesus.
I told him my name, I told him his mother’s name and told him about his family.
I told him about his ancestors who were in heaven with him. My great-grandmother, Velma Janes, a beautiful and fierce Native American woman.
I told him that if he was scared, Grandma Velma would protect him.
I told Moon about his brothers and sisters, and I gave him pictures that the kids had made for him.
I brought Moon the same book I have read to all of my children a hundred times over, it is sadly titled, Goodnight, Baby Moon.
As I laid on the grass and dirt with my hands dug into the red soil, I sang Moon my lullaby:
Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep Baby Moon.
Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep.
Rest your head, close your eyes.
Rest your head on your pillow.
Go to sleep,
Go to sleep,
Go to sleep, Baby Moon.
Shannon sobbed with hurls of emotion.
I grabbed her, put her head on my chest as she slept each night, and Shannon heaved with tears and sobbed, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
Shannon asked for a tissue, so I went to my car to get some.
As I returned, I saw Shannon’s father, Chris Thompson, walking toward her.
He told her, “You have to come with me now! If you don’t come, Sarah is calling the police!”
Shannon screamed, “Why?”
She begged him to leave.
He refused, so I finally said, “You need to leave, you didn’t even tell me about my son’s death for eleven days, you need to leave.”
He rolled his eyes with a smug look.
Now, dear reader. I am not a violent man. Yes, I am a Marine veteran, I’m big, imposing and strong. I believe a man should train his body to be a monster, but hold that monster back with civility.
My civility was tested like no other.
I called Chris Thompson a coward as he hurled back insults.
Finally, in my only flare of temper, I looked him dead in the eye and in a low voice, told him . . . “run.”
He stumbled backwards to make his way to his car.
As I walked away from Moon’s grave to calm down, Shannon sat on the curb across from me.
I asked her, “Shannon, what happened?”
She replied in a low, scared voice, “I terminated the pregnancy.”
I asked about the procedure.
She didn’t deliver him, so his limbs were torn from his torso as he was still alive, and his remains were scraped from her womb.
I told her that, she sobbed.
She explained she was afraid of a custody battle with me.
I asked her, “Shannon, you know I would never keep you away from your own son, right?”
She said, “yes.”
So, I said, “Instead of joint custody, you chose to kill our five-month-old son?”
She didn’t respond.
I told her, “Shannon, if we had just talked, if I had just held you like I did today, Moon would be alive.” She agreed.
The reality is, that as I mentioned above, the Thompson family is very cult like. They demanded Shannon cut off communication from me and NEVER tell me about her intent to kill our son. And I strongly suspect they encouraged her to do so, to preserve their control over her.
Shannon was the princess darling of the Thompson Clan. They didn’t want to lose her to any man who could break the spell they had over her . . . and they especially didn’t want a child stealing her attention.
And it wasn’t the first time. Shannon was a runaway bride in the past after her fiancé was painted as “abusive” by her sister Sarah. Shannon’s family blocked her fiancé from seeing her or communicating with her. But the fiancé was a good man, and as Shannon admitted to me, he was not at all abusive.
The same scenario played out in my relationship with her, but the result wasn’t just a broken relationship, a child’s life was taken.
I returned to Moon’s grave, kneeling and placing my hands back into the red soil and spoke to my son:
Moon, I am so sorry I couldn’t save you.
I did not know.
I had no idea.
I am so sorry.
But son, I will make this right.
Anyone who knows me knows the code I live by.
They know that if you harm my children, I burn down the world.
They hurt you Moon. They killed you.
I will make things right to honor you, so this never happens to another child.
As I spoke with Moon, Shannon screamed, “No, no, no!”
I explained to Shannon Thompson that I would use every means under the law to tell Moon’s story and change things.
I emphasized that I was no physical threat to her and her family, but I would use the courts and the court of public opinion to tell Moon’s story so that a father has a seat at the table before his child is killed.
And that is why you are reading this . . .
And it is why I’ll continue to tell this story despite the pain that it causes me. Despite having to relive this trauma again and again and again.
Shannon texted me the night that we met at Moon’s grave. She begged me to not do this and to keep her name out of it. She agreed that a man should have a chance to mediate with a mother before an abortion, and that it would have saved Moon.
But she said she could not relive this again and again in the media.
Now, clearly, I am willing to relive it as I would have fought for his life. And I’ll fight for him in his death despite the pain it causes me, and despite the coming attacks by the Pro-Choice Radical Left.
Shannon and her family fought to kill Baby Moon, and due to the Leftist mantra, “my body, my choice,” it was done with great ease. Moon was killed with no resistance, the question of whether he would feel pain wasn’t even asked or explained.
Now dear reader, now that you know Moon’s story, will you retell it?
I ask that you help me ensure that he did not die in vain.
Outside of legal action against Shannon, the Thompson family, her friends that influenced the killing of my son and her employer, Capital One, who funded the abortion, my intent is to pass “Moon’s Law.”
Moon’s Law will require known fathers to be notified 10 days prior to an abortion with an option to mediate with the mother – only including the mother, father and a mediator.
The law would also require a father be immediately notified upon the death of his child.
It is fair, it is just, until abortions stop happening across our nation. Even Shannon admits this would have saved our son. We had love for each other, we had love for Moon, and had we been able to express it, he would be safe and warm in her womb until his birth.
Outside influence in a relationship can be destructive, we all know that. In Shannon’s case, it killed our son, and her family is as responsible as she is for Moon’s death.
It is important to me that the Thompson family understands their actions and the harm they have caused to Moon, myself and my children.
I ask that you support my efforts to obtain Justice for Baby Moon and so that his death not be in vain. Please consider donating at https://givesendgo.com/justiceforbabymoon
And please, share Moon’s story so that we can get #JusticeforBabyMoon.
[CORRECTION: A previous version of this article stated that Virginia requires that burial of fetal remains. HB 970 would have required that and was introduced by Delegate Nick Freitas. The bill stalled in committee.]