I have to confess to you, after the first and second shock and the subsequent bitter grief, there was a moment of misunderstanding and yes, even anger. I didn't understand why you did diving training alone, didn't understand why you underestimated the danger, it just didn't fit my image. I knew you were an extreme athlete and knew the elements and dangers you were exposed to.

When the news from the doctors came afterwards, the misunderstanding was gone immediately.Cause of death: Too big heart.

Your heart was simply too big - not just physically. It could have happened undetected later, regardless of the stress, no one could have known.

You were healthy, lived very healthily, knew about all your vital functions, and always measured them. You knew so much about your body, which injuries or pains were related to what, how to react to them, and you enthusiastically told your wife about all the connections. You knew your stuff really well. No one could have guessed that your too-big heart would be the problem someday.

Your passion was extreme sports. Extreme challenges, over 900km bike ride alone to the Alps, in 5 days. There were more such rides, and the fear that something might happen was always present for me. But you also knew about the dangers and could explain and assess them prudently beforehand. The extreme challenges made you so happy that any misunderstanding by me or your environment was erased. Rightly so. You have mastered incredible challenges and often left me speechless. I don't know anyone who has made the most of the day and life. 

When you sent me a photo of your bike ride at 5 a.m., not only the photo but also the fact that you had just finished your tour at that time impressed me beyond measure.

Your heart was so big that your declared goal was to someday build a sanctuary - a farm that takes in all animals with any suffering and life story, until the end. This idea is not over but will be carried on by your beloved wife Mathea someday. Don't worry, the attic will also be finished, I promise.

I am so grateful for every trip we took, even if they seemed irrational. Like when we were in our early 20s and just booked tickets to India, South Africa, and the Seychelles - because we said that's something people usually do at 50, but we're doing it now.

The volcano we climbed in Guadeloupe, the descents we made in the Alps, the racing bike expeditions in Mallorca, and the hurricane we experienced on the beach. The trips were even better with you - because I was often too afraid, but you would come around the corner and say, "we have to go a little further, I think it gets even more beautiful back there" - and it did become more beautiful. When we were together, I had no fear, because I always thought, "my little, big brother will take care of me." And you did - when I once had a third-degree sunburn, you built a sunshade for me at the beach from leaves and branches. Only later did I realize that your sunburn was just as bad.

Your departure from this world somehow feels like a final, big project to me - "I'm gone for now, but you have each other, and now take my completely excess energy that wouldn't have been enough for 100 years and share it among you. Try to live only half as intensely as I did, love only half as intensely, and care only half as much for your fellow human beings, and the world around you would already be immeasurably better."