For four years now, I have paused around this date to share this story. I do it not for sympathy, but for fidelity, a conscious decision to defy the silence that time imposes. Life often asks us to move on. But some connections are anchors, not weights. This annual post is my refusal to let a remarkable friend be washed away by the current of years. It is my promise that his absence will never be met with forgetfulness, a testament that he mattered, and that he still does.

Five years ago, on September 18, 2020, a profound silence began. As some here know, my dear friend and former colleague, Matthias, disappeared. One day, our WhatsApp thread was alive with banter – a photo he’d taken of a rare bird, my sarcastic reply, his dry retort – the next, nothing. I didn’t panic at first; our rhythm was our own. We’d gone weeks without a word before yet always picked up right where we left off. Even after I’d left the company five years prior, the connection held. He was in Germany, I was often elsewhere, but we’d weave our transatlantic lives together, sometimes literally meeting for a rushed coffee in a Frankfurt airport terminal between flights.

He was, to me, the archetype of a certain kind of German man: impeccably organized, fundamentally stoic, but with a dry wit that could undo you. I was all shades of grey and loud passion; he was black, white, and quiet certainty. We were opposites that fit perfectly. In our world of Quality, we were the agitators for progress, constantly questioning the “why” behind everything. He hated the spotlight it put him in, but he stood there with me anyway, believing fiercely in the vision we built together. He was my staunchest critic and most loyal defender, often in the same meeting.

He was an intensely private man, a fact he expertly hid from me at first. As my local guide in Germany, he’d insist on picking me up on Sunday afternoons to battle jet lag with a brutal hike or a long drive through the countryside. It started as a duty to his boss, but it became a ritual of friendship. I earned his trust over time. He started to send me more than just vacation photos. Pictures of his daily world, like the view from his balcony at sunrise, a new camera lens he was proud of, or his frustration with a work problem.

I remember helping him navigate into a new role that suited his meticulous, independent nature – a dream job that involved travel to different company sites. He was on assignment for that very job, doing what he loved most -photographing a rugged coastline – when he vanished. The official assumption is that a sudden, violent wave took him. The sea never gave him back.

The loss is a shape-shifter. Some days it’s still a dull ache. My family, though they adored his quirky, chocolate-bearing presence at our holidays, saw him as a lovely colleague. They couldn’t quite grasp the hole he left. My husband understands; he knows my “work peeps” are my second family, the ones who shared the lonely travel and exhausting triumphs.

But here is my solace, and my lesson: I know he knew. I told him, often and loudly, in my very un-corporate way. I thanked him for his mind, his integrity, his friendship. I can still picture his slightly embarrassed smile when I’d get effusive.

So today, I’m adding new stories to his memory. I imagine him finally on that extended safari in Namibia he always talked about, his camera capturing a perfect shot. I picture him finding a quiet cottage in the Alps, perfectly content in his solitude. These are the stories I tell myself.

And the lesson he left behind is stark: Tell your people. Tell your work wife or work husband, your mentor, the colleague who makes the daily grind meaningful. Tell them what they add to your life, not just your bottom line. Be direct. Be passionate. Be grateful.

To all my peeps, you are my tribe. Thank you.

And to Matthias – I still glance twice at every electric blue BMW and expect to see your wave.