Jessa has always fed us. Her friendship set the table, asked us in, kept the bowls full. For decades she has reminded us that nourishment is more than survival—it is comfort, it is delight.

The phone rings. I see the vet clinic’s number and my throat goes dry. I feel a jolt of anxiety. Although there can be no more bad news, I don’t want to talk to them. I just want all this to go away, to be one of my nightmares. “Mosi’s ashes are ready for pickup,” says the receptionist softly.

It’s hard to disappear in this digitally-connected world. Have you ever Googled yourself? I have. It’s amazing how much someone can find out about me in just the ‘top hits’ when I put my name in. In all, close to 25 relevant entries appear, and I’m not remotely famous. I think most of my friends can say the same, yet when I tried to find Ben Krieger on the internet, I came up empty.

Paris, City of Love, where we lay our scene of adventurous study abroad college students. Me and the girls were out in a little bar late at night. The lights were cool, a featured musician was playing acoustic, and my friends and I were ready for some dessert.

At first, I thought I’d killed you. The Friday before, you texted to tell me you were going to drown yourself in the Monongahela River. It was late Spring. You were drinking again.

“Go to the ER,” I told you. “Please don’t give up.” But, I didn’t offer to sit with you or hold your hand till the pain stopped. Instead, I just imagined you wandering along the trail by the river’s edge, staring into the murky rush.