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October 11, 2001 good grief I returned this week to see my deaf-mute psychotherapist, Dr. H. Keller.  When it hit me that I was separated from my wife and children and dog and cats, I had something along the lines of a collapse.  So I thought I'd get checked out by a professional who, while communication-impaired, clearly has a heart of gold. Turns out he also has eyes of red.  Dr. Keller has conjunctivitis in both eyes and the condition has impaired his ability to lip-read.  At least that is the conclusion I drew when, after recounting my separation grief and asking for advice, Dr. Keller nodded sympathetically and began applying a poultice to a Cornish game hen. But eventually he caught on after I drew him pictures with Crayolas in a Big Chief tablet.  While chiding me as "passive-aggressive" for drawing my wife with horns on her head, Dr. Keller was gentle and understanding.  He pantomimed that it was "normal" to experience gut-wrenching grief as a result of a separation although he conceded it was "abnormal" to rapidly strum one's lips while crying and making motorboat sounds.  I was told to expect future bouts of crippling grief, but he indicated the attacks would gradually, over time, lessen in frequency and severity.  Either that or he gesticulated the Gettysburg Address, I'm frankly not sure.

©  2001 by the beastmaster