The Megan God Sent

As horrible as this may sound, I have to be honest: I let Google be my unintentional god many, many, times. (I'm working on this always, okay? Like, right now, I have a self-inflicted Google restriction of only directions and recipes. And the very rare Facebook stalk.) But come on - Google always seems to have the answers I need. NEED, you guys. It can calm my anxieties and fears with the touch of the <enter> button - just type out your question in the simple box, under the creatively colorful letters… soothing, they are. Google has my back at 2am, in the midst of a child breakdown, and when I was trying to believe my marriage problems were redeemable.

Seriously, though; during my despair within the month after Oliver's death, Googling was my coping mechanism. Stillbirth causes relentless, torturing wonder - I spent hours daily searching for anything, ANYTHING, to calm my soul. The rest of the time I was a zombie trying to attend to Max and Josh's needs while craving my next Internet browse. The most helpful Google searches were the stories of moms who had *truly* recovered from their baby-loss grief. I honestly couldn't imagine recovering from mine - as whiny and spoiled as that may sound.

I'd refresh my #stillbirth feed on Twitter every 30 minutes, hungry for anything new to make me feel not alone. Cause I was, SO ALONE. Once the kids were in bed, angry prayers and isolating depression were my lifestyle: iPhone in one hand, Oliver's cold urn in the other, I'd look for hope on Google. My dwindling faith that God could speak directly to my brokenness was eclipsed by Google's ability to talk out loud - it cared enough to give me tangible relief. While the distance between Mitch's and my relationship continued to grow, Google alleviated and heard my ever-increasing pain and emptiness.

Looking back, I'm not sure of the details of how I found it, but there just happened to be a Hollywood movie coming out concerning stillbirth, called Return to Zero, starring Minnie Driver. A true story about a filmmaker and his wife's journey through full-term stillbirth, I immediately latched on to the news about it, at all times. I must have re-played the trailer for the movie, which wouldn't premiere for at least another year, over one hundred times within the month after his death. Given the subject matter, no production company would fund it (stillbirth isn't an "appropriate" subject for Hollywood, you see), so they started a Kickstarter campaign. Rumor has it, Minnie Driver was so moved by the story - as were the many other amazing actors of the movie - that she did it for pay next to nothing (and was later nominated for an Emmy for her performance). I brought the issue of donating to the campaign to my husband and pleaded for his agreement, to which he agreed. Everyday it was my medicine: the new people on their Kickstarter, the amount donated - all of it was medicine to my gasping heart… people really cared about these babies. They MATTERED. I still cry thinking about it.

Their campaign was a massive success, and they opened up a guest blog too. Mothers of stillborns from all over the world were encouraged to submit their stories, and I could think of nothing that would heal me more than submitting Oliver's. I had empty frames without his photo, and no footprints like so many other moms had.. but, I HAD HIS NAME. It was a long shot, but I sent my story that I had already posted on my own blog at the time, and the filmmaker emailed me personally in response. I was elated - it was as good as a strong narcotic to me: someone UNDERSTOOD. Our story was posted to their site, and so many sweet moms offered their hope and love. I lived off those comments for days, and even screenshot them for print later (Oliver's name is in the movie credits - a gift to my heart I could never, ever, fully express.)

But then… what happened three days later...

I got a Facebook message from a woman named Megan - we had no mutual friends. While I didn't know this then, it was the first time in months she had searched 'stillbirth' at all - she had sworn off Google-coping to protect her own heart. Little more than a year earlier she had lost her own sweet daughter to stillbirth at 24 weeks too, just like me. No cause ever found, like me. But for some reason, this day, she was "compelled" to search and discovered my story. It was the only story she'd click on and read that day. She had just successfully given birth (yes, *successfully* - this is how those who experience stillbirth describe birth forever thereafter) three months earlier to her Rainbow Baby, and for some reason was driven to Google again. And in that first search she did, she somehow stumbled across my story on, of all things, a blog based in California.

But you guys, we lived FIVE MINUTES APART. FIVE.

Her sweet daughter that died? ANNIE - MY NAME. Her Rainbow Baby, three months old, that had somehow miraculously made it? OLIVER. I poured over the beautiful photos of her older daughter and her thriving Oliver on Facebook, and cried more fulfilling tears than I have ever in my life. They were beautiful. Her Oliver, was BEAUTIFUL.

How… HOW, do you deal with that?

If the similarities in our lives could be called miraculous, the ability of this woman to give life and hope to my soul could then only be called God-breathed. For those that don't know my story, I didn't hold Oliver after he was born, because I was so afraid it would hurt more. My doctor warned me, hours before Oliver's birth, that he had been dead for close to three weeks and there was no guarantee that he would look "well". With hours to decide and no guidance (it was Christmas Eve with no one on staff to advise), I chose to refuse holding Oliver in the hope that I could forever imagine him looking like Max or Josh after birth. This is a decision I will forever regret. Forever, and ever, AND, EVER. His sweet little body? I could've held it close to my heart. But because I didn't, the only thing that would ever hold him was - quickly - the nurse's hands, and a metal box. I had the option to touch his sweet smallness… and I didn't take it. I DIDN'T.

But Megan? She held her sweet Annie. And when we met at a restaurant a couple months into that initial email - she described it to me, in detail, in a compassionate and gentle way that only a stillbirth mom could. The tears that I'll cry forever over the mental imagery this beautiful woman gifted to me - they will never stop. The photos of her sweet Annie's feet and hands and face and lips and size and sweet, sweet, life… there are no words to embody it. Through her talented use of compassion and love, I can literally imagine my sweet Oliver in my arms. And here I am, two years out, and even thinking of her covers my keyboard in heavy, salty tears.

Oh, how deep God's love and compassion is, for our broken, thirsty souls. Only he could author such a moment.

HE LOVES US SO.

This was only the beginning of the relationship God created between Megan and me. I became pregnant - and not on purpose - the very first moment my body was able. We had the six week appointment after birth assuring us that our loss was a "fluke", and after one cycle it was over - I was pregnant again. Hindsight knows now - had I not become pregnant - I believe my marriage would have ended. And I had no idea how much I was going to need this woman in the months to come.

But God did.

At the time, I had no idea that she was an answer to prayer - more like an answer *in spite of* prayer. Google took the credit for this one, I thought - God didn't even make it on the radar. One of the most beautiful things about God is that he isn't into parading. He's entirely patient and willing and humble enough to let you believe he's absent, knowing that the beauty of his secret love will boil over once it's all said and done.

He doesn't love because he wants the glory; He loves because he can't help it. He's entirely wrapped up in our stories of pain and fear, and wants nothing more than for us to feel his presence, genuinely. He has no idea what ulterior motive is.

And I was only just beginning to learn the meaning of this.