Twelve months in and you accept that the month she died will always be the hardest. It's been 364 days since you held her hand and pulled the plug, but you still can't bear to listen to old voicemails, afraid of what her voice on tape might do to you (even though you've heard her laugh every day since she died).
I see the updates. I see the newly posted pictures of a growing belly. I see the pictures of a nursery that was tirelessly decorated. I have the same pictures. But you'll never see them. It's not because I'm ashamed of my belly or because I'm an awful painter or decorator. It's because I didn't get the happy ending.
Truth be told, grief makes a lot of people uncomfortable. It's hard to see someone you care about torn up emotionally. It's natural to want to fix them, but that's just not possible. Therefore, the most helpful thing you can do for someone who is hurting is to offer to just be there for them in whatever capacity they need.