We didn’t want a page with just dates and a photo. We wanted something that could carry her joy. Her humour. The way she made space for each of us, as children, as grandchildren, as family. One of us found a clip of her laughing heartily during our brothers wedding. Someone else added a photo from the day she taught our girls how to sing a Kenny Rogers song she loved so much. She was the matriarch of our family. She shaped how we show up in the world. This memorial helped us honour that, and hold on to it.

My dad didn’t talk much about legacy, but you could feel it in the way he showed up. Steady. Decent. Present. We put together the memorial with just a handful of photos, one from his rugby days, another of him with my son, quiet moments. I didn’t think much of it when we shared the link. But the messages that came in… they caught me off guard. It made me think. About what he gave me, and what I hope I’ll pass on too.

Yasmin had a way of noticing things others missed. She’d capture little moments such as photos, voice notes, thoughts in a notebook, as if she was gathering pieces of life itself. After she passed, we found so much of her. Not loud things, just small traces. We created the page to bring those together, for us and for the people who loved her. It wasn’t for attention. It was just a way to honour what Allah gave us through her. A way to remember gently, and with gratitude.