I think you've just hit upon the dictionary definition of human in the course of grieving.

The big things of grief, the hospice, the funeral, the filing of the will, etc etc, sometimes seemed easier than the little, unexpected ones. At least they had a clearly defined process, including an ending. 6 months or so later, I received a yearly royalty check in the mail for an academic book he wrote, and the bank wouldn't let me cash it because I'd closed our joint account. I burst into tears in front of the clerk. About five people came rushing over like I'd just tried to rob the place, and I just ran out. Someone followed me and asked if she could explain the bank rule.

All I needed to do was fill out some simple form and have it stamped at the courthouse. I don't even know what it was about-- I didn't need the $50. Maybe it was symbolic of in the moment of how I didn't have him anymore, or how hard the process of losing him was, or how it seemed like no one understood it.

I think my kid has also been undone at many of the small things of grief. Maybe that's exactly what grief is, the undoing and the knitting together, over and over. My sense of it is the smaller things get smaller in reaction over time, and in the time it takes to recover, like a muscle pulled and the soreness the next day.