Daniel O'Sullivan, 1846

This may be my last diary-entry. I’m starving. All our potatoes rot and there is no public work for me… We do not have any money. Father died yesterday; maybe I’m the next one. I’m so hungry… My sister promised the soup kitchen the British promised used will open tomorrow. But let’s be honest, if they wanted to help us they would have helped us a long time ago. Maybe I should have joined John Junior… He went away, to America. I hope he survives the journey.