I had a beautiful Baby Boy, born in Bessborough in 1960 died at 6 weeks, my self lucky to have survived with the same infection, was told a dirty needle. I hadn’t known where my Son was buried until 15 years ago, when I had plucked up enough courage to confront the nuns at Bessborough.
I now know that.
Although I was a so called inmate in Bessborough at the time of his burial, I was not allowed to be at his burial. It breaks my heart not knowing if he was dressed in a gown or even if he was laid in a Coffin.
Having read these horror stories nothing would surprise me. To this day, 54 years after, still trying to come to terms with the horror of it all.
May God forgive them.