Andrew Melton Friddle, Jr.

Andrew Melton Friddle Jr (AJ) passed away on December 26th. In Fort Worth,Texas of complications from Cystic Fibrosis.
Born June 20th 2004 in Denton,Texas.
AJ was 21 years 6 months and 6 days old
AJ was a kind,caring and compassionate young man who loved his family and even his poor ugly dog.
AJ was a very patriotic young man and very proud of his Texas heritage.
In high school AJ was active in sports playing football baseball and even running track,but without a doubt his proudest moment was when he walked across the graduation stage and received his diploma and blood cord.
He was so very proud of being able to help others by donating blood every time the opportunity arose.
AJ is survived by his mother Jeanie Robinson and his dad Joshua Robinson.
His father Andrew Friddle Sr. and his wife Heather Friddle.
His younger brother Chase Friddle and 2 much beloved uncles Zachary Bartek and Matthew Friddle.
He is also survived by his very special aunt and friend Tamara Robinson and Laci Ford who showed him that it's okay to be true to yourself.
Aj leaves behind two very broken hearted and devastated grandmothers, Kimberly Bartek and Melanie Miller.
AJ also leaves behind dear friends and adopted family,Sarah and Michael Simmons with whom he shared a very special bond and their daughter Morgan Simmons, the love of his short life.
AJ leaves behind many friends and family members who will miss him terribly.
Joshua Robinson... Though you weren't AJs father,you were and always will be his dad.
Josh showed AJ what a good man looks like and for that we will always be grateful to him.

The family would like to extend a special note of thanks to the entire H2 palliative care team, and the wonderful people in the respiratory therapy department.

Your kindness,compassion and concern for Aj during a very difficult time means the world to us, and to Vivian and Andrea, you both made him feel so very special and granted what we didn't know at the time would be his last wish which was to be the proud owner of an ugly sweater 😁

Y'all made his last few days joyous and fun for him, and for that you will always have our greatest appreciation and deepest gratitude.. thank you.

We would also like to thank everyone at the CF clinic at Cook Children's Hospital, with y'all's help and dedication we were able to have him for 21 wonderful years..Thank you❤️

We will forever rejoice the time we had with him and forever mourn the time we wont.
You were the best part of us..breath easy now.

The following text was written by AJ's aunt Tamara Robinson and we are so grateful to her she captured his essence beautifully.

He stands in memory the way he stood in life—quietly confident, a little wry, wearing his achievements without needing to announce them. Twenty-one years is not long, but some people fill their years so completely that time feels less important than impact. He was one of those people.

He had a good sense of humor, the kind that slipped into a room softly and made things lighter without trying too hard. He could make people laugh even on difficult days, especially on difficult days. Humor was his way of saying I’m still here, and so are you.

He helped anyone who needed it. Not loudly, not for credit—just because it was the right thing to do. Whether it was listening, showing up, or sitting beside someone who didn’t want to be alone, he had a steady way of being present. He understood struggle in a way you only do when your own body has asked you to be brave more often than most.

He loved video games—not just for the play, but for the connection. For the worlds where limits fell away, where laughter traveled through headsets, where friendships were built moment by moment. In those spaces, he was free, fully himself, exactly as he was meant to be.

And he was never afraid to be himself. He didn’t apologize for who he was, didn’t shrink to make others comfortable. He lived honestly, even when his health demanded more from him than it should have. Cystic fibrosis was a constant companion—unwanted, unrelenting—but it never defined his spirit. Even as complications took their toll, his kindness, humor, and authenticity remained intact.

On December 26, 2025, cystic fibrosis took his life—but it did not take what matters most. It did not take the laughter he left behind. It did not take the way he made people feel seen. It did not take the love that still speaks his name in quiet moments.

He is deeply missed. In the pauses between memories. In the games left unplayed. In the moments when laughter almost comes, and then does—because that’s how he would’ve wanted it.

Some lives are short, but they are never small.

His was one of them.