And here we are, nearly one month afterwards. We are back in our routines and it has helped. The concerned looks and hugs from people have stopped, which is good, since now I'm not prepared to handle them. I veer wildly from joyful to depressed with little warning. I've had a few panic attacks; nothing too serious, I've always been able to talk myself down from them. I've read that this is normal and due to hormonal fluctuations, which is reassuring, since it means that it will eventually stop. In a way this inconsistent emotional state is worse than continual grief, since I have no bulwark prepared for it.
And what truly has helped are these little guys, who need a somewhat stable parental unit:
(Writing thank you cards to their great-grandma, which probably didn't get sent out given the events that occurred after these were made)