It's been my experience, and I can only speak for my own, extensive though it may be in this particular arena, that time does change things, just in a more subtle way, and so slowly that we barely notice it happening, as it does.
In the beginning, and sometimes for a good bit after, the pain is acute, every memory seeming to cut us open anew. As time passes, though, and life moves on, around and, eventually, through us, the wounds close up some as the reminders of what was lost become less frequent and give us the space needed to start the healing process. Rather than a sharp, breathless jab, it becomes a dull ache that can certainly be just as profound, but has turned into something familiar.
Finally, even that fades and what's left is less an ache than an occasional sore spot, as the mind and soul do what they do and the bad things slip away, the last days, the things undone, words unspoken, leaving more room for the good, all the years prior, the things done and those that were said that, when recalled, will bring a smile, rather than tears, if a sad one.
That, to me, is grief.
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