Standing at the graveside I could have sworn I smelled chili. It could have been. It was Price Hill, you know. We were at “new” St. Joseph cemetery, the Irish one, as the locals say, not to be confused with “old” St. Joe’s, which looks much newer than the new one, and in which the Germans are buried.
After honoring our parishioner Mary with the Catholic prayers of committal, I took four of her pink roses, after asking her family, of course, and headed over the hill to find the graves of my parents. It is a curious thing, maybe just in my heart but maybe in many hearts, that I remember dad, as I stand there, but I miss mom. Really miss her. I remember those rattling bottles that dad put up with behind him in the truck for our sake, as he went delivering milk house to house. And I remember that because of that job, which I am embarrassed to admit now embarrassed me when I told others what he did for a living, dad was able to come to everyone of my high school tennis matches. I remember dad. But I miss mom. I miss her patting me on the chest with the back of her hand, as she did until the day she died, whenever I kissed her goodnight or goodbye. There is still a hole in my heart, as I wish that I could hear one more time our exchange, “Hi, momma … Hi, baby!”
After clearing a few weeds away from dad’s music notes and mom’s bingo card, I went to Price Hill chili. Whenever one makes the trip “all the way over to that side of town,” one deserves to have goetta and eggs for lunch.
With Open Doors 
Your post has brought tears to my eyes. Dad has been gone 12 yrs now and Mom will be gone 20 years in November. Dad never missed one of my softball games and I miss him immensely. Mom was always doing for others who couldn’t do for themselves. She was not very affectionate with me, but I miss her “zany” ways that only Linda could have. The fact that dad worked for Kahn’s Meats never really emabarassed me, but our little 1000 sq foot house on a dead end circle did embarass me when others would see our little house. You dropped me off at home one day. Several of us girls stayed and graded your final exams and you took us to LaRosas White Oak( up the street from where the current one is)for lunch. After lunch you took us home and I was ashamed at our little house. I don’t get to Cinci very often since there is no family there, but I try once a year to make a pilgrimage as I call it with my girls. We go to see the dead end circle and that little house as well as so many things that make me who I am. There is the traditional LaRosas stop and Gold Top, the whippy dip on Blue Rock, the stop at Kroger for Gliers Goetta (I pack a cooler) and some flowers. Then on our way to 275, we stop at Arlington Memorial Gardens and place flowers on Mom and Dad’s grave and walk around the Garden of the Good Shephard where so many of my relatives are buried with mom and dad. Then it is a somber drive back to Grove CIty. Life has been particularly difficult these days ~ it is time for that pilgrimage that brings comfort, peace and goetta on toast sandwiches. Thank you.
Whippy dip, goetta and the drive down the dead end street to see the little house, all with your girls – it doesn’t get any better than that!