People Share The Saddest Thing They've Ever Learned About Their Family History


Being curious about our histories is second nature for most people. But not every secret is a good one- in fact, there are the ones that you can't even bring up. The elephant in the room is unrelenting, and sometimes it's just too tough to face.

u/mgov999 asked: What is the saddest thing in your family's history?

Not too late to break the chain.

My great great grand dad hung himself.

My great grand dad drove his car off a bridge.

My grandad stuck a shotgun in his mouth.

My dad threatens suicide constantly. Everyone In the family expects it.

Edit: Man people are nice. I just want to assure everyone that I'm okay, actually doing pretty good, I like where my life is headed. I also don't really believe in curses. But thanks everyone for the support, you're all great.




My grandfather was a Nazi Soldier. This isn't really a sad story, it's more like a true love story with a sad story. My grandfather married my grandmother who was a Jew. He saved her from getting captured and brought to Bergen-Belson.

They then went on and immigrated to the U.S to get married. They stay with us now since they are growing old, and every Wednesday we go to get ice cream. It's the cutest thing.


What the f**k...

My grandmother used to lure girls away from their homes in Mexico, then kidnap them, and sell them. Also, my mother, aunts, and uncles all for the most part have different fathers.

My grandmother was not a good person.


An interesting history.

My direct ancestor was a General in the American Civil War for the Confederacy and I am named after him. Well, I'm named after my uncle who was named after his grandfather who was named after him. There are statues of him to this day.

Prior to the civil war our family were big time slave owners, like the 1% of the 1% rich; US Senators in your back pocket powerful. Despite being a white guy, I have a very commonly black last name; I feel sorry for people that don't put it together right away when they notice why a white guy would have a black person's last name.

A large portion of that half of the family is still very... well stereotypical Ozarks racist that speak of the Confederacy in a positive light.

For my immediate family that has nothing to do with the rest: It's a dark part of our history but I feel strongly that it should not be hidden because to pretend it didn't happen is almost as bad as attempting to justify it.


Not a happy birthday.

A great aunt had a sweet sixteen birthday dance. It was her first important day in her life. Because it was on the plains people had to come in by wagons to attend. Because it was winter and no lights, people had to stay for two days. It was a big deal.

Also, from here she could start courting. She danced, would get sweaty, go outside to cool off, and then come back inside. She caught pneumonia and died a few days later.


That's dark.

After my grandma died, she ended up buried somewhere, and my father and grandpa not only had to spend 3 weeks trying to find her body, they had to dig her up themselves and take her body to her lot in the graveyard.

She was buried in a mass grave in someone's yard, so they had to find her amongst the other bodies buried there.
War really is hell.




My great grandmother grew up extremely poor (think 10 kids in a one room house poor). When she was 8 her parents saved up and bought her a new church dress. The night before she was supposed to wear it for the first time her house caught on fire.

They didn't have fire departments in that area at the time so she had to watch her house burn down with her new dress inside of it. It's not the most "tragic" thing in my family history but that story has always stuck with me.



I had a middle sister but my mom miscarried.

The crazy thing is that when my parents successfully had my living sister, they gave her the name they were going to give to the other one. Efficiency, I guess.



When I was a teen, my grandma was murdered.

Her body was found in a ditch just outside of town. She had an ice skate identical to mine dig deep into her torso. Because of this incriminating evidence my dad thought it was me who killed her.

He grabbed the family cat (who was sleeping) and launched it at me. Whilst I was distracted by a fury black floof ball attacking my feet, he pulled out I nail and swung at me, I managed to dodge a push him out the second story window. He was knocked unconscious and dragged to the hospital.

The next day it came out that he was the murderer, and the cat still hates me to this day.


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