After Aaron’s wife Polly died, they wrote a book together.

It started with the intense process of creating the memorial service and writing her eulogy. He put everything he had into it.

But then a strange thing happened — the writing kept coming. It came out in letters and poems and short essays that explore the impact of becoming a widower in his 40s, what it means for him and their three young children, how to be a solo father, and where to go from here. Talking about grief is like staring into the sun, so Aaron doesn’t come at it directly, but through the side door, through the windows, in little snippets that were bearable to write.

At the same time, he discovered Polly’s journals, written in her idiosyncratic style, sort of like ee cummings with dashes. What a gift she left! In her writings she contemplates her art, their kids, being a mother, the loss of her own mother, her 16-year relationship with Aaron, and (presciently) the nature of death.

Aaron’s musings with Polly’s diary — by turns funny, poignant, and sad — interleave to form a mosaic of the life that was lost and the lives she left behind.