What do I do with this?

What do I do with this?
This heartache?
This dam of tears just waiting to be released?
This desire to be past grief?
This desire to avoid grief?

What do I do with this?
This pressure, this worldly expectation, to move forward -- to power through?

This awful fact that I can't just power through?
That I need to keep carving out space in this busy schedule to grieve?
That I've kept a box of Kleenex on my bed all week just in case?

What do I do with this?

I don't know. 
But I can't keep trying to hide this.
I need to grieve. 
I need to honestly, openly grieve.

Because that's where we start to move forward.
Slowly.
Because right now there's no other way.
Slowly. 
And that's okay.
I'm going to be okay.
We're going to be okay. 
Grieving today is okay.
Grieving. 
That's what I do with this.

And I do something else.
I go to work.
I meet some friends. 
I do the dishes.
Because I know I can come back to this. 

I know I can create space to grieve again later.
Because I need to embrace life too.
I need to laugh, to joke, to breathe regularly.
I need to be, to do.

I need to live as much as I need to grieve. 
Because that's how we move forward. 
Slowly.
That's what I do with this.