I'm not sure I have any wisdom, perhaps I'm too new to it (two years in - still new as far as I'm concerned) and it still feels too complicated and painful for aphorisms.
I found the process of my dad dying utterly traumatic, but I was there for all of it. I felt a very strong sense of duty around it all, and was so heartbroken I didn't want to leave him (as he didn't want to leave us). I was definitely in shock for a long time after (shock is a gentler numbing than the word implies) and ruminated on what happened.
The first year was very hard, but I knew it had to be, deserved to be, and I went with it. Possibly too much, I don't know, but I always knew that my dad's death would be crushing (he raised us as a single parent, he was everything). My relationship suffered and I didn't care; I'm sometimes surprised it didn't end. The second year was easier but the sadness underlined everything, and I was still very irritable, quite distant, distracted, and did not look at photos of him. I didn't socialise much. Just into year three, I've started looking a bit and I can feel some of my old drive coming back, if inconsistently. I now want to feel close to him again, when before I just felt wrenched from him.
I'm of the school of "you adapt around the sadness". Their absence is a gaping crater in your life, which you tentatively peer into now and then, but often skirt around the edges of just to be in the world a bit more.
My daughter saw and felt how hard it all was, and is terrified of losing me. I didn't expect that, but I feel part of this profound chain now in a different way. It's rich, but untimately heartbreaking. I've lost friends over the same period and life just seems to become more melancholy and joy is sometimes more vivid as a result. And it doesn't tend to make any sense.