My earliest childhood memories include going to church with my daddy; sitting in the second row at Southampton Seventh-day Adventist Church, holding his hand or sleeping on his shoulder.

The foundation of everything I’ve learnt about faith, service to humanity and ultimately the love of God, I learnt from my daddy. I learnt by his words but more importantly I learnt by his deeds.

More than a man of faith, my daddy was a faithful man. Faithful to his family and faithful to God. He committed himself to the Seventh-day Adventist Church and I never saw that commitment waver. Not once. Not when money was tight, or when he buried his son, or even as he faced health challenges.

His faith was anchored in the Lord (Hebrews 6:19).

My daddy was a devoted Adventist Christian. He taught Sabbath school and gave Bible studies, led prayer meetings and even preached a sermon from time to time. He kept the Sabbath holy without compromise and paid his tithes and offering as if it were as essential as Belco. He started and ended each day with a prayer, and a scripture was always on the tip of his tongue.

But beyond all of this, my daddy loved me. He loved me with an unconditional love. A love that could only be matched or surpassed by the love of God himself. His love was patient, and his love was kind. It did not rejoice in evil, but delighted in truth. His love never failed me (1 Corinthians 13).

And because he loved me, I could trust him. He was my refuge and my strength, a present help in the time of trouble (Psalm 46:1). He was truly a friend who stuck closer than a brother (Proverbs 18:24).

At every juncture of my life, he was there. When I graduated from high school and college, he looked on with pride. And when I sat in the Supreme Court facing a prison sentence, he sat with me. He was the first face I saw when I woke up from an attempted suicide. And when I gave birth to my son, he was waiting outside. He stood by me at my wedding and was still standing there when I divorced. He promised to never leave me or forsake me, and he never did (Hebrews 13:5).

He was merciful and forgiving, even in my rebellion (Daniel 9:9).

He encouraged and comforted me (1 Thessalonians 2:12).

He went before me and fought for me. He carried me through the darkest of days (Deuteronomy 1:29-31).

It’s been a month since he took his last breath and I’m still trying to navigate what life is without him. The void he left in my heart is palatable. It grows in depth each day, as I come to terms with the fact that I’ll no longer see him in this life again.

There will be no more hugs or corny jokes. I won’t sit next to him in church and listen to him sing the hymn off tune. He’ll never preach another sermon or lead another Bible study.

And when I face the inevitable hardships to come, I won’t have my daddy to lean on. Yet while his physical presence is no longer felt, I do not mourn like those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13).

My daddy didn’t leave me money or land, but he left me something much more valuable (Proverbs 13:22). He left me a foundation and legacy of faith. Although my own faith has faltered on many occasions, his foundation has carried me and will continue to carry me long after he has gone.

His faith was a secure fortress, for himself and our entire family (Proverbs 14:26).

He was my pride and my joy, and I was his (Proverbs 17:6).

Having a father like him was indeed one of my life’s greatest blessings (Proverbs 20:7).

He has earned his earthly rest and I know that if there is a heaven, my daddy will be in it (2 Corinthians 5:8).

• Howard Granville Crockwell, 82, died on March 23