We all take grief differently. Judi Dench spoke of the energy of grief, which I am feeling at this moment, although not necessarily for writing as much just right now; this is a break from past patterns, quite often that energy has driven writing bursts; in fact I was writing intensively in July.
But much else has to be done right now. That's the other side of grief-- for a while, everything seems to happen at once. Decisions, life changes.
I've known people who were stuck in grief for decades-- something called complicated grief. It's normal to mourn for years, but after a while, it shouldn't feel as fresh as the day it happened. Some approaches to resolve this can involve letting yourself talk to the deceased, and such.
Losing my hearing dog Kajal was traumatic beyond a lot of other deaths I've experienced in life, largely because it was sudden and traumatic. But two years later, almost, it no longer hurts like a redhot brand to remember him. I speak of him to my current dog, but for his sake, I try and focus on the present, not the past, and remind myself that the skills I have are the legacy of working with Kajal.
There's sense in the saying that the best remedy for losing a dog is to get another dog-- not that that dog will be the same, but it fills the void with sheer dogginess, and helps remind you why you loved that dog.
That advice doesn't work with parents, though. I'll have to find my way, but I won't be idle while I do so.