Chapter 25

If I thought life had been hard up to that point, I had been sorely mistaken.

Like many meth babies, Noah was insecure, fearful, restless, had the attention span of a tomato plant. Learning disabilities followed, clinging, separation anxiety, a tendency to darkness and depression, and sometimes a wild, uncontrolled self-destructive rage. Coupled with his deafness, it was a potent brew to swallow. Only now, with about ten years under his belt, was he starting to settle down, though he was constantly fearful of separation and checked in with me many times each day to make sure I was still there. I could be sitting on the toilet and he’d wander in, wanting to know where I was, wanting to reassure himself. At least he had gotten to the point where he could sleep through the night without waking up and coming to my room and climbing into my bed, although he still did that from time to time.