I think it gets harder with time. Fresh grief has its consolations, not least among them - disbelief. I remember the night it happened. My mind balked at accepting it. It tried to remove itself. It would forget for a moment and then be cut anew by the knowledge.
Now it can't hide from the knowledge. I don't have to remember it each time I wake up. I know it even in my sleep. There is no place to hide.
It also gets harder to evoke your existence. Your words are still fresh. I get a fix of them every day, but there are only so many of them. They are only you at a certain point in time. They are not your essence, which was ever moving and evolving. The hardest thing is not that I miss you. I missed you even while you lived - you were away most of the time and the phone was a poor substitute. The hardest thing is that you are frozen in time.
You lose a child continually as it grows up. You miss the different stages of its life. But you never expect its life to be complete.
One thing that I did not miss while you lived was your love. It was as strong as when you clutched me with your chubby baby arms. I feel supremely unloved now.
Worse - I feel all my love is going into a black hole, never to be returned.