if you would all like to cry a little more today, but also have a reminder that people have always been people, and we connect to those who came before us even if we did not know them
in glasgow necropolis, there is a gravestone. it is very small and unassuming. in fact, it’s very easy to overlook because if you walked past it it would not even come up to your knees and it peeks out of the surrounding foliage
there is no date of birth, nor date of death.
it is the grave of a child. her name was “Wee Bessie” Wilson. she lived, and then died aged just 2 ½, sometime in the victorian era (from the age of the stone, and the fact the necropolis is largely a victorian burial ground)
nobody knows who she was, anymore. but 150-200 years later people leave flowers, toys, brightly coloured pinwheels, teddy bears, or seashells on it as they pass
bessie is gone. everybody who knew bessie is gone. the people who knew the people who knew bessie are gone. but she was 2 ½ years old and goddamnit she’s going to have a brightly coloured pinwheel or a teddybear or a pretty seashell
It’s important to me to point out that Wee Bessie didn’t have “accomplishments”. She didn’t have a degree, or a particular job title, or a salary. She wasn’t a homeowner or a parent. Her life was not impactful because it was goal-oriented, it was impactful because it happened. Her legacy is in her existence, not in a checklist, and your life is valuable regardless of what you achieve or what you leave behind.
from the size of the stone, her parents were not wealthy. but they loved her enough in her short life to give her what they could. to make sure she was remembered.
and after all this time, strangers still honour that by making sure a toddler has a toy.
For a second I didn’t realize it meant “high” as in a stoner–I thought “High Geologist” was like a rank of geologist or something and he was insulted you would challenge him to naming stones
