Filled with such sadness

I know it's the cold. I would like to start by saying that. I know it's the cold and the winter and the approaching season of remembering her that is no longer living. I know that. I will be fine.

But I seem to be filled with such unending sadness of late and I just can't shake it. This sadness that makes others uncomfortable because they can't fix it. This seriousness and longing to just be alone, yet wanting so much to not be. I've been reading this blog as I've mentioned about a missionary family in Uganda. Their dog died. I burst into tears. After a year of rebel invasions, Ebola outbreaks and the death of a friend from Ebola their dog died.
Sometimes this grief in the world seems so much, this ability for despondency and just absolute darkness to settle over the world like a blanket is at times just to much to bear.
Some days it's easier to smile through then other, this idea that I have no idea what I want or how to go about obtaining it. This banshee yell that I can hear most days urging me in a direction that I'm not entirely sure I want to go, yet want to go so badly.
This paradox of holding such grief and unabated sorrow in one hand while laughing insanely about spatulas and other hilariosity is like a broken in pair of jeans some days. How is it that I can fell such opposite emotions often in the same breath?
I'm not really looking for answers I suppose, because I'm not sure that there are any. This season of missing her seems to start so much earlier every year the farther time takes me from her actual death. Why? The more I think I've processed and forgiven he that is my mental impairment the more it seems there is of him to forgive, the sooner things crop up to remind me of his damage. How?
When will it be enough this grief and anger, sorrow and bitterness? When is enough enough? Is it me? Am I just not letting it go? Am I just nurturing the wounds like the long line of women before me have done?
Yet it is somehow OK at the same time. Somehow it's still OK, necessary even, to laugh and joke and hug and love.
It seems that these are the days that God is so near that I can't see him except in moments of intentional focus....sort of how you can't really see your nose if you don't look down with crossed eyes. It seems that these are the days to run to God faster and harder, seeking out the answers that evade my desperate grasp.
But the answers are often disturbing. They are often answers that cause me to clap my hands over my ears and cry, "Not that God, don't make me do that"

So I know I will be fine. I'll take some medicine, I'll sleep off this crankiness, I'll be able to breathe through my nose again and this sorrow will abate if only for an hour.
The real question is...will I do what God is asking of me?