My father passed away some years ago. He always loved stories about spirits and the unknown, just like me. After he was gone, I often saw him in my dreams. Over time, the dreams became less frequent, but they never truly stopped.
But there was one time I didn’t just dream of him—I actually heard his voice.
After the funeral, family and friends gathered at our home. They brought food, as is the custom, so there were many dishes to clean. Later that evening, when everyone had left, I stood alone at the sink, washing plates. The water was running when I suddenly heard my name, spoken in a cheerful, playful tone:
“Hey there!”
It was a voice I knew too well. I turned off the water and looked around, expecting to see a relative who had returned. But the house was empty. Then, realization struck—it was my father’s voice.
He always spoke like that when he was excited about something, eager to share a discovery or a joke. In that one simple greeting, I understood. He was telling me not to worry. He was at peace. And maybe, just maybe, he had found something wonderful on the other side.