Ellie's heard this before, too: like something about her just telegraphs what she needs to hear. He would be so proud of you.
It still makes her eyes sting, makes her throat tight.
The fucked up part is that she'd always known that he was proud of her. That he loved her more than anything. More than the whole world. That he'd have wanted her to be alive and happy. But she still misses his voice, his hands, the look in his eyes. There is still a crushing void in the world that he should be here to fill, and he isn't. He never will be again.
These days, she's usually okay. It doesn't make her unable to climb out of bed in the morning. Doesn't stop her from smiling, or feeling guilty for finding pleasure in anything at all.
But every once in a while, it hits her all over again, and she just can't breathe.
"... tell me about your mom?" she asks instead, reaching up to swipe her fingers across her face.
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It still makes her eyes sting, makes her throat tight.
The fucked up part is that she'd always known that he was proud of her. That he loved her more than anything. More than the whole world. That he'd have wanted her to be alive and happy. But she still misses his voice, his hands, the look in his eyes. There is still a crushing void in the world that he should be here to fill, and he isn't. He never will be again.
These days, she's usually okay. It doesn't make her unable to climb out of bed in the morning. Doesn't stop her from smiling, or feeling guilty for finding pleasure in anything at all.
But every once in a while, it hits her all over again, and she just can't breathe.
"... tell me about your mom?" she asks instead, reaching up to swipe her fingers across her face.