“When a martyr dies,” one woman told me, “their soul never really leaves. It watches, it listens, it visits —They continue living.”
For two years, I have been listening to people who live between belief and mystery — Iranians who grieve not only through memory, but through ongoing conversation with the dead.
In Iran, when someone loses a loved one, grief often unfolds through a world of spirits — a world where the dead are not gone, only unseen. This situation becomes more extreme when the deceased has been killed in war or an incident(martyrdom ).
Many of my interviewees spoke of souls that linger, of dreams where the departed appear, of signs that seem to carry their presence.
When I asked, “Where does this belief come from?”, most referred to the Qur’an or to Islamic teachings — traditions that affirm the eternity of life after death as all Abrahamic religions. Yet when we look closely, theology and experience do not fully align.
Islam teaches that death is a passage — a closure to this world and an opening to another. The Qur’an speaks of the afterlife as a realm beyond human reach, not a place where souls wander back.
Acts such as reciting Qur’an, giving charity, or helping the poor on behalf of the deceased are encouraged gifts — spiritual offerings, not evidence of ongoing earthly visits.
But what I encountered in people’s stories was more practical, emotional, and immediate.
Across villages and cities, I saw this same thread: the living and the dead remain in conversation.
A sister describes her brother's soul as living through her body
A widow who has filled her emotional void by befriending the spirit of another dead man — a martyr — and introduces him to others as her boyfriend.
A girl who says, “Even though I never met my father — he was martyred before I was born — his presence has helped me more than anyone else’s. I ask him to solve my problems, and somehow, they get solved.”
These moments are not superstition. They are acts of care. They transform absence into continuity, death into relationship.
As an anthropologist, I learned that grief is not just a private emotion — it’s a social language, shaped by history, faith, and imagination.
There may be little textual evidence that the dead “visit” the living. Yet through stories, rituals, and the tenderness of memory, the dead continue to live — not as ghosts, but as beloved presences carried forward in the human heart.