A widower chronicles his grief in this memoir.

After Polly Simmons died suddenly from a blood clot at the age of 43, her husband, Aaron, kept his wedding ring on and searched their house for signs of her ghost. “I want[ed] to travel through Time,” he writes. “I want[ed] to punch God in the mouth.” In this tribute to his late wife, Simmons interweaves excerpts from Polly’s private journals with his own memories of their marriage and an account of his struggles as a newly single parent. The structure creates an intimate dialogue between the living and the dead, further enriched by reproductions of Polly’s artistic work—the paintings and interior design that filled their shared home. This approach proves effective; Polly emerges as a vivid presence through her journals, her personality evident in her observations on subjects that range from mortality to menstruation to Victoria’s Secret underwear (“I know you’re trying to reflect just enough of the culture to sell more stuff, but you’re doing that by pretending to be part of the conversation. I thought it worth asking, are you going to talk to me?”). The author admirably avoids hagiography—Simmons presents their relationship with cleareyed honesty, acknowledging the imperfections alongside the love. His descriptions of taking on domestic tasks that Polly had seemed to manage effortlessly offer relatable moments for anyone who has experienced a similar loss, capturing both the mundane difficulties and profound disorientation that accompany the death of a spouse. However, the juxtaposition that gives the book its structure also highlights its central weakness: The author’s plainspoken prose, while earnest and moving, rarely matches the energy and insight of Polly’s more freewheeling writing. The imbalance becomes increasingly noticeable as the narrative progresses, leaving readers wishing for either more of Polly’s voice or greater depth from Simmons’ own reflections.

A compelling and vivid portrait of a deceased spouse.