literature

Whenever I see a Pelican...

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Literature Text

From first through eighth grade my mother made the mistake of enrolling me in a private Christian school. I was teased and tormented mercilessly by classmates and teachers simply looked the other way. My education was also extremely hindered by the fact that religion was the prime thing were taught to the point where you wanted to scream "Enough about Jesus, teach me math!"

As we matured the other kids began tormenting me less but there was always one boy who refused to follow the crowd and was always kind to me. This boy's name was Grant, a quiet and smart child who could have easily been a bully if he'd wanted to with his large and muscular frame earned by his participation in farm chores when he was at home. No, not once do I ever recall him doing any sort of harm to living thing or falling into any sort of trouble. He was one of those one of kind people that show up all too rarely.


In ninth grade we all moved on to a public middle school for one year and were mixed in with the other teens who had been in public school from the start. It was a lonely and awkward year for me. I didn't get to know anyone or fall into a group of friends like the others; I was just by myself. It was astounding how little I even saw of my former classmates.

For tenth grade we moved on to a third school where we would have our high school years. Here I reconnected with Grant and we sometimes spent time before school talking before heading off to class. He was a veterinary assistant and would share stories of some of his more unusual experiences. My favorite was of an injured penguin that was brought in. Apparently, one method of defense they use is to vomit in order to ward off perceived threats. This is exactly what the bird did and seemed to have an endless supply; just when they thought the pelican was finished and the could examine it he puked again until at last he really was out of ammo and they could help the poor creature.

In my final year of high school I had Grant in my History class. He sat behind me and I was thrilled to have someone I knew so close since it was indeed a rare event. However, one day he didn't show up for class. Nor did he the next. Finally I asked the teacher but was told that she wasn't allowed to say. I immediately felt worried.

Not long after I learned that Grant had a rare and weird sort of cancer whose name I still cannot recall to this very day that had invaded his back, hips, and pelvis. He was undergoing treatment and would be away for some time. When he did return to class he had lost a bit of weight, all his hair was gone, and he didn't say much. I left alone because I was sure his cancer treatments had left him exhausted as well as other things only someone who had experienced the disease could truly understand. Gradually, along with his body, Grant's personality returned to the way I had always known him. It was wonderful to see him smiling again and regaining the energy that a young adult should have. At last it seemed things would go back to normal and Grant could resume his life and put the cancer chapter behind him.

When the end of the school year was in sight Grant vanished again. Soon enough I got a call from the church, as did all the others who had attend the Christian school, to attend a meeting. I was slightly late because I had to work but the pastor was kind enough to wait before speaking with us. Grant's cancer had returned with a vengeance. He had undergone every treatment available including some experimental ones but nothing had worked. Grant would not be recovering this time. He was going to die.

Stunned silence and some tears were all that we could respond with in the tiny office we had crammed into. It wasn't fair. We had all believed that Grant had made a full recovery and was on his way to graduate with the rest of us. At last the pastor spoke again and recommended that we divided into small groups with three in each and arrange to go visit Grant for the last time. I joined up with two girls I was on good terms with and tried to mentally prepare myself for when we'd go.

In the short time before the visit I had a ceramics class. There I spotted a tractor in the green ware section and decided to paint it for him. I didn't know much about them, but with a little help from fellow students I painted it to look as realistic as possible and was pleased with the final product.

While I wanted to see him I honestly dreaded it at the same time. I'm a very weepy person and was scared that I'd start balling while I was there, right in front of Grant and his family who were the ones that were really suffering. I held it together, but how Grant looked that day is forever burned into my mind: He was so skinny now you could see his ribs. He could barely move and the medicine he was receiving to ease the pain caused him to be fatigued and doze off frequently. When he did speak it was slurred and with difficulty. It's a state that no one should ever have to see someone they care about it. At the end of the visit I had to take the tractor out of the bad and place it in his hands since he didn't have the strength to do so. He thanked me and asked his mother to place it somewhere where he could see it. Tears were in my eyes as myself and the other two girls left the house.

On April 17, 2007 I was in my English class. We were preparing for the bell to ring when an announcement came over the intercom for the teachers to check their e-mail and read us all a message. Oh great, another bomb threat we'll have to leave the building for, I thought since this routine had become common. I wish it had been. Earlier that morning Grant had passed away. At first I felt numb, but after the bell rang and I was walking through the hallway I ducked into a bathroom as I started to sob uncontrollably. This couldn't be real. Out of all the kids from that Christian school, out of this current one, why did it have to be him? I hated the majority of people I knew, and would be glad to see go, so it seemed beyond cruel that Grant was the one taken. When I finally got to math class I was late, but under the circumstances the teacher didn't care. I don't remember anything else that happened that day.

Grant was the first person whose viewing I'd ever attended. It was such a surreal experience to see him laying in the casket. He looked like he was just sleeping there and could wake up at any moment. In my head I imagine grabbing him by the collar and shaking him while I begged him to open his eyes only to have him awaken and ask what all the fuss was about. I didn't stay long. I couldn't. Instead of sadness this time I was filled with rage. People aren't suppose to die this young. I should be a senior citizen before hearing about a classmate I knew dying and reading about the long and full fulling life they had. Not experiencing the death of one just shy of graduation when we'd be going out into the world and making something of ourselves.

I'm ashamed to say the funeral is a very vague memory to me, probably because it made Grant's death final and really sink in. The most distinct part of it was when the casket was driven away not in a hearse but in the back of Grant's truck that he had liked so much. With a honk it was off and that's when I started to cry, uttering the rather stupid phrase of "This really sucks" before being hugged by a classmate.

My eyes were still wet on the way home when something remarkable happened. The route to my house was past a lake and there I saw a lone pelican drifting near the shore. To this day whenever I see a pelican I think of Grant and hope that he's happy wherever he is and knows how greatly he's missed.

Five years have passed now I hope with all my heart my fellow classmates that grew up with Grant take the time to remember him. Nothing bothers me more then the thought that when it's my time to go I'll leave without notice and no one to carry on my memory. That is why I'm sharing Grant's story today and I hope that you too will never look at a pelican the same way and think of a young man who was taken away from this world too soon.
I felt compelled to share this story. I hope none of you ever have to experience such a thing.
© 2012 - 2024 MadForHatters
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Rebeccannoying's avatar
What a sad story! And what a huge coincidence~ I also went to a private school for the majority of my elementary education, and there was the nicest kid ever there named Grant. He also happened to be a farm boy. Weird o.o...

But that is sooooooooooooooooooooo incredibly sad... Why is it that the most awesome of people pass away? D: Poor guy :(