Why These Stories Matter
Most family trees are built around life milestones — births, marriages, baptisms, and burials. These events shape our sense of continuity and belonging. But what about the ruptures? The moments that don’t get passed down in stories or scribbled in the margins of a family Bible?
As genealogists, we sometimes stumble into uncomfortable truths — records that hint at trauma, silence, or deep personal suffering. Among the most difficult of these are moments related to suicide: attempts, completions, or institutional responses to mental health crises.
Suicide in family history is rarely spoken of, yet it surfaces in the archives more often than many expect. When it does, it challenges us — not just as researchers, but as descendants. How do we document these moments? How do we talk about them? And most importantly, how do we preserve the dignity of those whose pain was kept hidden for so long?
Where Suicide Appears in the Genealogical Record
When tracing a family tree, most researchers focus on records that celebrate life’s major milestones — births, marriages, baptisms, and burials. But for those willing to look a bit deeper, there are quieter, more fragile moments preserved in the archive: moments of crisis. Suicide attempts, while rarely discussed in family lore, often leave traces in unexpected places.
Prison records may contain notations about self-harm, either in disciplinary logs or medical incident reports. Military files — especially from World War I and II — sometimes list “nervous breakdowns,” “self-inflicted wounds,” or medical discharges tied to emotional instability. Asylum admissions, if preserved, can reveal language like “melancholia” or “suicidal tendencies.” Even burial registers may quietly mark the event, using phrases like “denied rites” or simply omitting ceremony.
These records weren’t made to preserve emotion — they were procedural, institutional, and impersonal. Yet for modern researchers, they offer rare glimpses into the pain an ancestor may have carried. Discovering suicide in family history can be jarring, but it also adds depth and humanity to the broader narrative. These are not shameful records — they are stories of struggle, and they deserve to be seen.
Case Study: A Suicide Attempt in 1915
On the night of December 14, 1915, a prisoner at Kingston Penitentiary attempted to hang himself using a strip torn from his bed sheet. He tied it to the upper bars of his cell and was discovered just in time by a night guard on patrol. The incident was recorded in the warden’s correspondence file — not out of compassion, but because procedure required it.
This document is matter-of-fact. It notes no punishment. No further commentary. Just: “The convict attempted suicide. The strip was taken. He was watched closely.” And then, silence.
Yet in that clinical brevity lies a profound glimpse into one man’s despair. We may never know what led him to that moment — whether it was grief, guilt, or simply the unbearable weight of confinement. But the paper trail ensures he wasn’t entirely erased.
Discovering something like this — even if it’s not your own ancestor — helps illuminate how suicide in family history can surface. Not as a rumor or family whisper, but as an institutional record tucked among thousands. A record of someone who tried to exit quietly, and failed — and thus was remembered, briefly, on paper.
Record Transcript
July 9th, 1915
Dear Major:
I beg to report for your information that convict Gil Elliott #711, attempted to commit suicide last night in his cell by hanging, using a strip torn from his sheet for the purpose.
The surgeon reports him all right this morning. The sick slip in Chief Turknett’s report says it appears he did not do.
In 11 Ward when Moore reported that he had not seen convict Elliott, #711, a.k.a. a stenographer in Wing Island, I went to the ward immediately, he was lying on the floor, he was not conscious but I found his heart was beating. We picked him and applied cold water to his head, he soon came around so as to breathe all right. He untied the bedsheet, they telephoned then to the hospital, he was in twenty five minutes. Be returned to the hospital.
You may remember Elliott as the person who was originally serving a life sentence and was liberated on parole and afterwards reconvicted for stealing from the one he was living with and had befriended him.
Yours sincerely,
[signed]
Warden
Inspector of Institutions,
Incorporated BranchesHow to Handle These Discoveries with Care
Finding a suicide attempt in a historical record can stop you cold. It’s not the kind of detail you expect in a baptismal register, a census return, or a court file. But when it does appear, it forces a shift — from the role of genealogist to that of witness.
It’s normal to feel conflicted. Sadness, discomfort, curiosity — even protectiveness. These stories don’t just add texture to a tree; they can change how we think about inherited trauma, silence in families, or the way certain ancestors were remembered… or weren’t.
So how do we do justice to these discoveries?
Start with empathy. This is someone’s pain, preserved unintentionally. Avoid language that dramatizes or sensationalizes. Instead, document the facts, reflect on the context, and if you’re sharing publicly, consider how living descendants might receive it.
Where possible, connect the event to the broader historical landscape. What was known about mental health at the time? What social or institutional pressures might have shaped this person’s world?
And finally: resist the urge to omit. These moments matter. They reveal the emotional undercurrents that vital stats alone can’t. Handling them with care doesn’t mean hiding them — it means naming them with dignity, and preserving them as part of the real, complicated legacy we inherit.
Research Tips for Tracing Mental Health and Suicide in the Archive
These stories rarely appear front and center. If you’re looking for records related to mental health or suicide, expect to read between the lines — and sometimes between euphemisms.
🗂️ Records to Search:
- Prison ledgers and incident logs: Especially in institutions like Kingston Penitentiary, where misconduct or injury was routinely documented.
- Military service files: Look for phrases like “nervous condition,” “melancholia,” or “self-inflicted wound.”
- Asylum admissions: Provincial hospital records (where available) often contain admission notes and brief mental health assessments.
- Coroner’s inquests: These may include witness testimony, verdicts, and medical evidence.
- Burial registers: Watch for missing rites, unusual delays, or burials in unconsecrated ground.
🔍 Keywords to Look For:
“Attempted hanging,” “found insensible,” “self-mutilation,” “suicidal tendencies,” “melancholia,” “depressed,” “lunatic,” “committed to asylum,” “unfit for service,” or even just “no rites” in a church record.
Cross-referencing is key. A suspicious death certificate might only make sense when paired with an asylum logbook or a prison memo. And always keep in mind: some stories won’t be spelled out directly — but the silences, delays, and omissions often speak volumes.
Why These Stories Belong in the Tree
It’s tempting to skip over these kinds of records — to file them away quietly, or pretend we didn’t see what we saw. But when we leave them out, we lose something essential.
Stories of suicide, despair, or mental health struggle aren’t detours from the genealogical path. They are the path. They show us what our ancestors carried, what they endured, and sometimes, what they couldn’t survive. A full accounting of a life includes the ruptures — not just the milestones.
Including these stories in your family history doesn’t dishonor the past. It redeems it. It restores dignity to the forgotten and invites compassion across generations. When we face these moments head-on, we make space for truth, healing, and the complexity of real lives — not just the curated ones.
Every name on your tree had a story. Some were harder than others. But all of them deserve to be told.