Help Keep Inaaya's Memory Alive

My name is Razia, and I am the mother of two beautiful children. One of them, my 11-year-old daughter Inaaya, now watches over us from the gardens of heaven, and my 13-year-old son Salahuddin is here with me.

2024 was the hardest year of my life, and for our entire family. We endured 7-9 hospital admissions, with stays ranging from a few nights to 6 weeks. We faced multiple ambulance callouts, weekly blood tests, checkups, transfers to Edinburgh Sick Kids Hospital, seizures lasting 5 days, surgeries, internal bleeds, ICU stays, kidney failure, and so much more. The hospital became our second home.

Three and a half months ago, my world was shattered. Everything I knew, my whole life changed in an instant. What I had believed would be another routine hospital visit, just another attempt to “fix” whatever the problem was, turned into the most devastating moment of my life. On Sunday 17th November 2024, I was told I had only a couple of days left with my only daughter, my youngest child. The doctors said she was nearing the end, and there was nothing more they could do. I felt as though I had been punched in the gut, like the air had been sucked from my lungs, and the world as I knew it came crashing down.

Inaaya hated hospitals. She despised everything about them—the invasive procedures, the needles, the blue uniforms, the hospital beds, the food, the noise. In that moment, my only mission was clear: I had to get my daughter home.

I brought Inaaya home on Wednesday 20th November 2024, three days after the doctors’ timeline. She was overjoyed to be back. Her smile, her laughter, and the light in her eyes filled the room. But inside, I was broken. I knew exactly why she had come home, and while my heart was shattered, I couldn’t let Inaaya see that in her final days.

Inaaya passed away peacefully at home on November 29, 2024. My precious girl is now in heaven.

The pain of losing my daughter is something I cannot describe. No words can even come close to what I feel, everyday waking up without my little girl, not hearing her voice call me “Maa” , and not holding her hand anymore. No words could ever describe this loss and this pain. I won’t ask you to take this pain away because I know that is impossible, this is a part of me now. I won’t ask you to bring her back, though without a doubt, I would give everything, absolutely everything, for one more moment with her. What I ask for now is your support—your help in keeping Inaaya’s memory alive.

I am raising funds firstly, for two special projects to honour her. First, I plan to have an oak bench, engraved with Inaaya’s favourite things, placed in the school playground she loved so much. Along with this, we’ll plant a tree in her memory. This will provide her classmates with a peaceful place to sit and reflect, offering them a space to remember and celebrate her.

The second project is to build a water well in Inaaya’s name, either in Africa or Pakistan. This well will provide clean drinking water to a village for up to 10 years. A simple gift like clean water can transform a community—leading to healthier lives, more children in school, and greater opportunities for the future.

I will continue to work alongside the local community, keeping Inaaya’s name alive, day by day, project by project. Please support us in any way you can—no gesture is too small.

Inaaya’s name in Arabic means “gift from God,” and that’s exactly what she was to me. Join me in honouring her by helping us deliver life-changing gifts to others, all in her name.