Grief can become quieter without becoming smaller in meaning.

Time tends to lower the volume rather than the meaning. The sharpness fades, the days become navigable, and yet what the person meant does not shrink by a single degree. People sometimes mistake the quieting for forgetting and feel guilty about it. It is not forgetting; it is the same weight, carried differently.

If the intensity has softened, try not to read that as disloyalty. Keep one deliberate way of remembering, a date, a dish, a story you tell, so that the meaning has somewhere to live now that the pain is not doing that job. Quiet remembering lasts longer than loud remembering.