my dad and i sat waiting on a gray mesh bench, under the steel and glass mammoth that is beijing capital airport. it was an empty night.

“we didn’t take any pictures together on this trip,” my dad said.
“i know.” i pulled out my camera and snapped a self portrait of us–him looking young and dignified in his argyle sweater and me with messy hair and pink fuzzy earmuffs.

there wasn’t anything left to say. we walked to the security gate and i hugged him goodbye.

“love you, daddy.”
“love you.”

i stood watching as he turned back three times to wave, and then continued to wave as he descended down the escalator out of sight.

i picked up my things and shuffled towards to the train station. i felt fairly ridiculous but i let myself cry anyway. at 24 this was far from my first time away from home, but that day in particular, i was feeling the full weight of being separated from loved ones. and yet struggling still, to express how i feel to the ones who matter the most.

days before, a family friend from my home church passed away in a tragic accident. we weren’t particularly close but the impact of his life could be felt deeply throughout my community of family and friends.  seven thousand miles away i was still receiving the waves of that. a confused mixture of grief, sympathy, regret, appreciation. absence. silence.

life continues. but some days i’m just staring out the window and start to cry for no apparent reason. until his last days justin lived his life with purpose, without holding back. it absolutely terrifies me that i couldn’t say the same for myself. i want to love without abandon, but there’s always that voice in the back of my head that says but you have to be careful. because you could get hurt. because you have to live with your choices.

and so what? at the end of it all, which is the sadder thing?

love, i’m at your mercy.