My daughter died suddenly at 19. Then I saw what she’d been Googling

My daughter Rain was truly the most beautiful person, inside and out. I know people always say that about their children, but she was so special. She was creative, very smart, and an excellent writer. She was an artist and a singer. Just everything beautiful in this world. I was, and still am, so proud of her.

We were a military family, so we moved around a lot and lived in many different countries. When she was younger, she loved going to new places and making new friends, but as she got older, she found it more difficult to adjust. That lack of stability, especially during high school, was hard for her. She started to struggle with depression and anxiety. She was on medication.

She eventually graduated, and by the time she started college as a freshman, she was no longer on medication and was not in counseling.

Everything seemed okay at first, but then one Friday night she called and said: “Mom, I’m not doing good. I really want to get back into counseling and get back on medication.”

I said, “Okay, Rain, I can call the doctor on Monday, and we’ll get you back in.”

She said: “Well, I have an assignment due by midnight, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

And I said, “Okay. I love you, and God has big plans for your life, and you’re going to be a great teacher one day.”

That was what Rain dreamed of becoming. She was majoring in early childhood education and had recently accepted a job as a tutor for children with learning disabilities. She was so excited to start that job. One day, others would benefit from her kind, intelligent nature.

But that day never came.

The next morning, I got a call. Rain had been found dead in bed with her schoolwork still open on her computer and her dog, Mars, beside the bed.

I was in shock. What happened? I’d just talked to her the night before.

Did she have a heart issue? Was there some underlying condition I didn’t know about? A few months later, we got her autopsy back confirming she had died from fentanyl poisoning. Tests indicated she had consumed Xanax laced with fentanyl.

I just didn’t understand.

That was when I started going through some of her personal things. I know people say you shouldn’t, but I needed to know what happened. I needed to understand.

One of the first places I decided to look was her computer. I knew her password and was able to access Rain’s Google search history.

Rain had searched for things like “How many credits till I’m a sophomore?”, “local college cheer tryouts,” “best dog food to feed my one-year-old dog,” and “counselors near me.”

Those searches showed me she wanted help. She was focused on school, on her dog, and on getting better.

Then I saw the search that left me sick to my stomach:

“What does a generic Xanax look like?”

I think, in her mind, she wanted to be safe. But that one decision to take something she thought was real cost her life.

My heart was broken. I hated myself because I felt like I had lied to my daughter. She was never going to teach. She had so many big plans for her life. But now she was gone.

Then I started meeting other families, and I realized just how many young people had lost, and continue to lose, their lives to fentanyl. Something had to be done. I want kids to know that you can’t take anything that isn’t prescribed to you and doesn’t come from a pharmacy. It’s truly scary that one thing can mean you’ll go to sleep and never wake up.

I met a mom from another state who had gotten a law passed requiring fentanyl education in grades six through 12.

So, I worked to get a law passed here called Rain’s Law. It requires public schools to teach students about the dangers of fentanyl and drug poisoning. It mandates age-appropriate instruction for students in grades six through 12, covering topics such as how fentanyl is often hidden in counterfeit pills, the risks of overdose, how to recognize warning signs, and ways to stay safe.

Rain always wanted to be a teacher. Through this law, she’s teaching, just in a different way.

Every year now in Oklahoma, we have a week focused on fentanyl and the dangers it poses. It’s about education and giving young people the knowledge to make choices that could mean the difference between life and death.

It’s also an opportunity to point people toward helpful resources if they are struggling with depression or anxiety like Rain was.

I regularly speak at schools and have been contacted by kids through social media, email, and even in person, telling me they are struggling and that Rain’s story, and everything that has come from it, has helped them so much.

There are always trolls, of course, who message me things like, “Well, your kids shouldn’t have been doing drugs,” or “You didn’t talk to them.” But they don’t understand. These kids don’t think they’re doing drugs. They don’t think they’re overdosing because sometimes it can be just one pill or one vape. It’s scary.

When I get those messages from trolls, I do think maybe I should stop. But I feel like Rain, and the heart she had, would want me to share her story, even if it saves just one person.

That’s all that matters.

It’s another kid who gets to live and grow up and do everything that Rain never got to.

I still don’t know for sure who Rain got the pill from. The detectives say they’re still working on her case. My concern is how many other people are being given things that could kill them. I haven’t given up hope that those responsible will be found.

When people think about Rain, I don’t want them to remember her for how she died, but for how she lived.

After she died, I had so many people reach out from so many different parts of her life to tell me what a great friend she was and how she made sure everyone felt seen and loved.

Even though she was smart, creative, and full of talent and potential, the thing I am most proud of is her heart and the love she gave to others.

So when people think of Rain, I want them to remember her for the way she loved.

Even though she’s gone, that love will never die.