What The Death Of My Friend Taught Me

Frank and I in 2018

Eleven years…That’s how long Frank Yukich and I knew each other. We met in 2010 in a small town in Central California called Visalia. When it came to partying, he was always the go-to guy.

When I moved to Long Beach in 2012, one year later, he moved down to Southern California. I was the only person he knew here. So when he hit me up, I introduced him to my fraternity which he eventually joined.

The last two years of our friendship were a bit nonexistent, though. Frank moved to the Bay area and stopped returning my calls and texts. Obviously, that upset me, along with his befriending of a dude that was fairly racist. I judged him and decided he wasn’t a good person.

I wrote Frank off. I deleted his number and told myself I’d be okay if I never saw him again.

I was wrong.

Frank and I with our friend Francisco at a fraternity event in 2015

Cultivate healthy coping mechanisms

I’ll never forget where I was when I heard the news, lying on a cheap, springy bed in the most ratchet motel you could never imagine.

It was two days before my birthday, and I was traveling to Jamaica. I didn’t want this bad news…