Remnant /ˈrɛmnənt/
a part or quantity that is left after the greater part has been used, removed, or destroyed.
When death takes my hand, I will hold you with the other and promise to find you in every lifetime.
Remnant. A story on grief and loss.
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Harry Styles
There was no denying the hammering in my brain when I woke up this morning. The subtle noise of cars whizzing down the road sounds like there's a storm cloud overhead. And every time I dare move, I'm met with the most frustrating aching pain than feels like my limbs way a tonne.
In my first few seconds of being awake, all I wish for is to hide under the covers and sleep off this headache that feels so powerful. I'm in physical pain for at least two minutes, then it suddenly turns into a mental pain once I realise how I had ended up in this position.
Jazz.
Though my mind was still slightly hazy, I was able to figure out the fact she wasn't here anymore. That much I was aware of. But I wasn't aware of how I had ended up in bed, nor what happened before that. I couldn't quite place my finger on the events that leaded me here, in bed with no children by my side.
The children. Shit.
I could gather that yesterday was the funeral, I could understand that it had clearly wrecked my soul, but everything else was still a blur to me. Everything else felt like a far off nightmare that I didn't want to touch.
The children were at the forefront of my mind, they always would be. So the second I realise they're not by my side like they usually are, I panic. Without those kids I am nothing.
I trust they'll always be fine without me, but without them, I will crumble into the earths core.
They can't have gotten far, most likely they've just woken up early whilst my body tries to catch up with the exhaustion, they're probably playing in Binx's room or maybe Binx is trying to find some food for Sully. Though I can't remember falling asleep with them by my side, then again, I can't remember much actually.
Whatever I've drunk must've been heavy.
"Binx?" I call out, sitting up from the bed and the dizziness that comes with my quick movement is unprecedented. I have to hold my hand on the bed to steady myself before I crash back into the pillows.
I close my eyes to stop the swaying of my mind, waiting patiently for her to respond and to come running back into my room, hopefully with her brother trailing behind her.
But I don't.
I don't here her call back my name, I don't hear little footprints pattering into the bedroom or toys clattering to the floor.