Alpha Omega M.D. – Episode #6
…What bittersweet irony for a family gathering…
Outside the tall barbed wire crowned concrete wall, past a solitary entry, today turned exit, awaits an entourage worthy of the preeminent boxer of this day, Sugar Ray Robinson, replete with a long black limousine, armed guards and one important addition; the Campbell family complete. R. Worth Moore has managed to assemble the three girls, two of their husbands and those precious grandchildren.
Throw in some Tallahassee tag-a-longs, friends and such, with card-carrying members of the Southeastern Medical Society and you have a mobile armada, of loving proportions. The only thing missing from the fleet is the Frenchtown High School marching band. Their bus is in the shop.
Alpha Omega Campbell, M.D. passes through the restrictive threshold of his temporary home, amid cheers, tears and warden-ly leers, the latter is on hand to remind the doctor that he is expected to return. This makeshift celebration does, after all, resemble a triumphant return to civilian life.
“We miss you, Daddy!” His daughterly namesake, Alpha, is the first to express the most simple of salutations. The Mizzels had flown in from Fort Lauderdale. Her husband Vaughn is also a doctor, as it goes for two out of the three daughters betrothed.
The McLouds, accounting for the #2 Campbell girl, Laura, is next to applying a warm stranglehold on her shorter father. Her uniquely fair skin begs an obvious question, but her stunning beauty deflects the any gossip. Franklin McLoud is in real estate, unable to attend, a pressing land deal blocks his attendance.
He looks down at a young grandchild. “And you, little Laura, the day I see you stop growing is the day I meet my Maker.”
Daughter #3, Zillah Shirley, last but not least in his heart, joins the love reunion. Youngest daughters will always be considered daddy’s little girl and with Zillah farthest away, even at her closest, this special encounter magnifies the joy. Washington D.C. is a world much removed from the old South, but people get sick, even in Camelot, despite official decrees.
What bittersweet irony for this gathering. Death is a regrettable excuse to assemble this menagerie of a clan, but when weddings and child dedications dry up, this is what’s left.