Oh, I don't know. The thing about grief that I realised is that it's utterly unique to the griever.
When we found out that dd1 was going to die, we actually went out and spent a stupid amount of money on comedy DVDs. Even typing it I can imagine people recoiling from the idea - if you'd told me I was going to do that, I'd have been horrified. But we needed to - needed to not face the terrible abyss we'd just been flung into, needed to not be in our heads if at all possible. And it helped. Sounds shallow and horrible, but it helped.
And yes, we booked a holiday. And we went. And it helped. It helped to be away from everything and everyone and just to be us, together, being heartbroken, in a sunny place. It started the healing process, and I still recall it as a wonderful holiday.
Am I shallow? Didn't I love my daughter enough? I don't think so; 5 years later I can still feel the pain of her loss as if I'd just ripped open a wound, but I learned a lot about myself, for good and ill, through losing my baby. No-one could get anything right for me - my sister had the temerity to be pregnant and I could not speak to her. People offered to pray for us - I raged inwardly at them and their god. People sent flowers - I tore them to pieces and threw them in the bin. People came to visit - I raged because I didn't want to see anyone.
I don't even know what point I'm trying to make. I look at me 5 years ago and feel so sorry for that woman, so sad for her pain. I don't regret how I dealt with it - I don't regret the rage, and the screaming, and the DVDs, and any of it - I needed to do what I did. Ultimately, I think that's all you can do.