Cindi Bonny: My daughter Zoei was the last baby to die in Bessborough
Cindi Bonny with her oldest child Kevin, who was born in Bessborough in 1993. A year later, his sister Zoei was born there and became the last child to die in the Cork mother and baby institution.
I am a survivor of Bessborough Mother and Baby Home in the 1990s. I survived it twice.
I went there because I had nowhere else to go. I believed it would be a safe place to grow my baby and prepare to become a mother. Instead, it became a place of trauma that has stayed with me for the rest of my life.
I didn’t mind working. What I could never accept was the cruelty. I was constantly told that my baby would be better off without me, that he would have a better life if I gave him to someone else.
I was called a slut, a delinquent, and made to feel that my own family didn’t want me because of the shame I supposedly brought on them.
No young woman should ever be made to believe she is worthless simply because she was pregnant.
It was not the regular staff or nurses in Bessborough who were cruel. Some of the staff, especially Tess and another lady whose name I can’t remember but whose face I can still see, would stop and have a chat. They were the only ones who showed any kindness.

I fought for my son every single day. I fought to keep him. I even fought to breastfeed him, but I was kept away from him, even when he was crying for me. No mother should ever have to endure that.
The pain did not end there. My daughter, Zoei, who would have celebrated her 32nd birthday on August 8, died following what I believe was inadequate care when I was in labour. I knew I was in labour, but I was not listened to. That is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
Even after Bessborough, the treatment continued in hospital. When I had my son Kevin, I was left out the back so no one would see me. I was treated as though I should be hidden away, not as a young mother deserving of dignity, compassion and care.
When Zoei died, I was met with coldness. There was only one nurse who showed me kindness. I have never forgotten her because, in the darkest moment of my life, she treated me with the humanity that was missing from so much of my experience.
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My son is now 33 years old. He knows his story. He knows what happened to us at Bessborough. He carries the sadness of how he came into this world and the knowledge of how hard I had to fight to keep him. He also carries the pain and anger of losing his little sister, Zoei. Even at 33 years of age, this is still part of who he is. This trauma did not end with me. It has affected my son throughout his life, and it continues to affect our family today.

That is why this matters so much.
When I hear about plans to build on the Bessborough site, every memory comes flooding back. It brings back the pain, the fear, the grief and the humiliation. I am someone who has always believed in getting on with life, in putting one foot in front of the other, in “sucking it up” and carrying on. But this stops me in my tracks. It takes my breath away.
I find myself standing still, asking, “How did I get through that? How did any of us survive such barbaric treatment?” Sometimes I think that those of us who survived Bessborough in the 1990s were among the lucky ones.
What happened at Bessborough was not the responsibility of one institution alone. Ireland as a country has a great deal to answer for. The State failed us. The Catholic Church failed us. Society failed us. Too many people knew, too many people looked away, and too many chose silence over humanity.
Today, survivors are asking for truth, dignity and respect.
Yet we are once again faced with decisions that make us feel unheard. Building on this site before every possible investigation has been completed does not show growth. It does not show remorse. It does not show care, empathy, integrity or respect for those who suffered there and for those who never came home.
To me, it feels as though we have learned nothing. We speak about remembering the past, but our actions suggest it is easier to build over it than to face it honestly.
No amount of money, no apology and no compensation can ever repair what was so badly broken. You cannot put a price on the loss of a child, the theft of a mother’s dignity, or the lifelong trauma carried by survivors and their families. The damage continues across generations.

I am asking this Government to stop. Listen to survivors. Protect Bessborough until every possible question has been answered. Do not bury our history beneath concrete.
This is not about stopping progress. It is about making sure truth comes before development, dignity comes before convenience, and humanity comes before profit.
A nation is judged not by how quickly it buries its past, but by whether it has the courage to face it. If Bessborough is built over before the truth is fully uncovered, then Ireland has learned nothing.
For Zoei. For Kevin. For every mother. For every baby. For every survivor.
Please, do not let history be buried again.
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