Habibti…

Come here.

Sit beside me for a moment.

I know your heart is hurting.

I know.

And wallahi…

if I could take this pain from you myself,

I would.

Do you think it was easy for me

to leave you behind?

Ya binti…

I was crying too.

Not because I was afraid of Allah.

Never that.

But because you are my daughter.

Because I loved you so much

that even while my body was failing,

I was still thinking about you.

Still worrying about you.

Still wanting to protect your heart.

Baba

This is a conversation with someone who isn't here anymore.

It's about grief that still speaks.

Still asks questions.

Still waits for an answer that won't come the way it used to.

Through spoken word, memory, and everything I don't know how to carry quietly, this is where I say things I wish I could say out loud.

It's about losing the person you would run to-

and learning what it means to stand when there's no one left to catch you.

And still hoping, somehow,

that love reaches farther than we understand.

Episode Title: The Letter Baba Left Me

In this episode of The Soft Archive, I read and reflect on a letter my father left behind—found among legal documents, funeral arrangements, and the quiet structure of a life he prepared for me before he passed.

What I thought would be paperwork became something else entirely:

a final act of care,

a form of protection,

a continuation of fatherhood beyond his life.

This episode moves through grief, caregiving, and what it means to be left with both loss and responsibility at the same time. It’s about the kind of love that doesn’t announce itself loudly—but shows up in planning, in foresight, in making sure you are held even when someone is no longer here.

We talk about:

– grief that is practical as much as emotional

– the weight and tenderness of being “the one left standing”

– faith as grounding in moments that feel destabilizing

– how care can continue, even after death

This is a quiet episode. Take your time with it.

If this resonates, you are not alone in carrying both love and loss at once.