Nearly a year

How can you say it gets "better"? You still remember the bad stuff as well as the good stuff. Maybe you no longer wake up in the middle of the night and have it all churning in your brain but it's still there. In a way, you want to hang on to it -- you don't want to forget any of it because it's all you have of her, memories. She "lives" in our memories.
I wish I hadn't so blithely accepted the cremation and dispersal of ashes because now I have no place close by to commune with her. She is far away on a distant shore, perhaps been swept out into the North Sea. Perhaps she's a silkie now. But I am here and how will I feel if I leave this place where there is only a relatively small connection to her? How will I feel when we downsize both houses where she lived and grew up? I must some day part with all the toys from her childhood, all the gifts and cards she's ever given me, the garments I knit and sewed for her. I have the memories.
Summer will always be a sad time. I remember how warm it was when she died. Remember walking the streets of London, doing errands, looking for things to cheer her up, trying to distract myself. Offering her fresh berries and other fruits, ice cream to tempt her. Trying to keep her cool, all the windows and doors open. Hanging the sheets and towels out that day in the sun and later taking them in thinking "She was alive this morning"