My father, Seymour Krieger, died on Sunday, Dec. 4, 2005. He lived a long, productive life, dying two days after his 86th birthday.

As I described in my previous article, my wife, Alice, and I brought my mom and dad to New York for a cousin’s 80th birthday celebration. At that party, my father offered the Shehecheyanu blessing, thanking the Source of All for bringing us together for this special occasion.

On our drive home on Sunday, Nov. 27, my father became disoriented, not knowing where we were going or where we had just been. Exactly a week later at 5:40 p.m., my father died, surrounded by his wife of 63 years, his four sons and other relatives and friends. Seymour lived a very full life as a husband, father, Jewish educator and psychologist. We were there to support his transition from life to death.

I stayed with my parents the week my father was in the hospital. It was an awesome time and I feel so blessed that I was there with my father and mother.

We learned on Monday after various tests that my father likely had a stroke. He had his first stroke about four years ago, his first serious hospitalization in his life, leaving him a weakened yet still vital man. This second stroke left him conscious and able to recognize us and communicate for another two days.

We were not sure how severe the stroke was. My father asked us, “Am I dying?” At that point I was not sure and responded by saying that I did not think so, not today anyway. He was relieved and looked up to my mom and said to her, “I am not ready to leave you.” It was such a tender moment. I promised my dad that I would take care of mom if he did die. By Tuesday evening, my father was nonverbal; by Wednesday he was no longer eating, drinking or swallowing. It was hard to know how present he was after that, although both my mom and I occasionally felt signs of awareness from him.

I became a nurse for my father, doing all I could to be aware of his state of being and keeping him comfortable in this, his transition from life to death. At the same time, I tried to be present for my mother as we learned more about what had occurred, what was happening, and what might develop.

By Thursday, my father’s illness was known to many of his friends and to his various communities. Friends, rabbis, students and relatives began visiting him and praying for him, blessing him, singing to him, and surrounding him with love. The cantor held his head in his hands and chanted the “priestly blessing.”

A group of synagogue friends came to the hospital room on Shabbat afternoon and sang “zemirot,” Jewish Sabbath songs, to him. We grew up singing Jewish and Israeli songs as a family together every Friday evening and Saturday afternoon for Shabbat. My father loved singing zemirot and all types of Jewish and Israeli songs. It was an incredibly moving afternoon.

I was, along with my mother, Seymour’s health care proxy. It was an awesome responsibility to help my father die in comfort and dignity. On Sunday afternoon, all the sons had arrived. Four hours later, my father died. With one hand on his heart and one hand on his wrist, I felt my father’s life force end, his breath ceased.

The final 11 days spent with my father were overwhelming, filled with so many moments of deep emotion and awe. From offering the Shehecheyanu blessing to his dear 80-year-old cousin to receiving so many blessings from his family and friends, my father transitioned with grace and honor from this life to the unknown. Yes, blessed are you, Source of Life and Death, who has kept us in life, and has enabled us to be in this moment! Thank you for enabling me to be present at such an awesome time in the life of my father and mother.

I got up from beside my father and kissed his forehead. Slowly I left his hospital room. I motioned to Tammy, his nurse, to come into my father’s room. The nurses who cared for my father that week were wonderful, giving such tender care to a man in his last week of life. The Rhode Island Miriam Hospital nursing staff and Hospice Program were so comforting to all of us. Tammy listened to my father’s heart with her stethoscope and turned to us and said, “I am sorry.” I tore my shirt by my heart, as I acknowledged my father’s death.

Rabbi Barry Krieger is the rabbinic facilitator for the Hillel organization at the University of Maine in Orono. He may be reached at bkrieger56@aol.com. Voices is a weekly commentary by Maine people who explore issues affecting spirituality and religious life.