Our Daddy died today. It is said that time stands still when tragedy occurs. This is true.

His was not an easy life. From the very beginning, as one of eleven children of a Bermudian mother and a Band Master in the British Army, life for the family was a constant challenge.

Mustered out of the army after the First World War, our war-wounded grandfather, our Dad and the rest of the family returned home to Bermuda. By the late 1920's, the Harris family had settled back to Bermuda life.

Very young, our Dad demonstrated great intelligence, and was soon given a full scholarship to Saltus. No more than two years later, his father was gone.

In a tragic twist of fate, our granny would then give birth to twin daughters, a few months after losing her husband. Esme, one of the beautiful twins, passed on soon after.

With formal education opportunities over, the implicit message for this boy, still a child from then on was to try and survive. And he did.

He never really discussed his early upbringing (or lack thereof). We know that somehow he managed to scrap and scrimp his way through adolescence.

He joined the Bermuda regiment. He met our mother. These two determined souls put down roots, had a large family, and through determination and intrinsic resourcefulness, managed to purchase a derelict property, to finally have a place called home.

Sometimes when we were young, he would mention to us that we should appreciate the good food provided to us by cleaning our plates because as a boy he could only get drippings on bread if he was lucky.

We laughed thinking it a joke. In our incredible ignorance, we could not imagine anyone having to support and feed himself at the same age as we were.

Our father was a fiercely independent very complex man. He was the responsible one. He was anonymously generous, helping so many even while struggling to support his own family: his elderly mother, his extended family, his Church, various charities, and even posting bail for his bookmaker relative during one difficult period.

Outgoing with friends and customers, in private with us, he hid his emotions. He just could not allow himself to show vulnerability; we eventually realised that in his own way, he cared deeply.

Totally self-taught and incredibly innovative, there was nothing that our father could not figure out how to do. He fostered in all of us an intense and abiding curiosity about our world.

I remember him writing in long hand on yellow legal paper, submitting short stories routinely for publishing acceptance. They all came back with rejection slips; undaunted he continued, eventually mastering a wonderful command of the English language.

Over time, our Dad evolved into a self-sufficient personally charming and successful business man, earning his place in local history in "Volume II: Bermuda, Our People, Our Story" as the gentleman who provided fair value and good service in his sewing machine shop for more than forty years.

But he was unpretentious, so very frugal, and uncomfortable with this role. He left little behind, besides his treasured Bible. His one great extravagance was planned well in advance, a cedar coffin for his journey home because he wanted to smell the cedar for all eternity.

His life was a series of routines. As a daughter who had to learn to know him again when he lived with us. I finally understood that having a routine and a purpose was what kept him alive and involved for his long 86 years.

He was easy to please. Homemade pea soup and having ice cream with the great grandchildren were favourites. He had oatmeal every morning after driving back from town listening to the Christian Radio Network while singing hymns.

We introduced playing Scrabble at the dinner table. He loved the word challenges, approaching each crossword with relish, especially if he solved it.

He wore the same clothes every day, saving Sunday best for Sunday, washing them on Monday whether they needed them or not. Why would you need more clothes, he'd say? These are good enough and for him, it was enough.

My dear husband wanted to introduce him to the Internet, opening up that brave new world. That was considered too heavy a responsibility; instead, he bought the encyclopaedia Britannica, so that he would have things to talk about with those he considered his betters.

He never had the confidence to know that he was better, far and above better. What he did know was that as a devout Christian, he was loved by the Lord.

Today was a day like any other. In the morning, we picked up the paper and rode into town. He had pea soup for lunch while he did the daily crossword puzzle.

He had a visit from his only great-granddaughter Caitlin (and her Mommy), totally entertained by her wish to have Po the Telletubbie sit on his head. He had a nap, and then he left us ? the way he wanted to simply, quickly and quietly.

Amazingly, in the way that life generates great coincidences, today, another of our extended family members gave birth to twin daughters.

Daddy, you were more than good enough. Rest in Peace with the Lord. In loving memory. Cecil Edward Harris, November 17, 1918 ? August 17, 2004.