Death
In January 1994, Onassis was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, a form of cancer. Her diagnosis was announced to the public the following month. The family and doctors were initially optimistic, and she stopped smoking at the insistence of her daughter, having previously been a three-pack-a-day smoker. Onassis continued her work with Doubleday, but curtailed her schedule. By April, the cancer had spread, and she made her last trip home from New York Hospital-Cornell Medical Center on May 18, 1994. A large crowd of well-wishers, tourists, and reporters gathered on the street outside her apartment. Onassis died in her sleep at 10:15 pm on Thursday, May 19, two and a half months before her 65th birthday. In announcing her death, Kennedy-Onassis' son, John F. Kennedy, Jr., stated, "My mother died surrounded by her friends and her family and her books, and the people and the things that she loved. She did it in her own way, and on her own terms, and we all feel lucky for that."
Onassis' funeral was held on May 23 at Saint Ignatius Loyola Church in Manhattan — the church where she was baptized in 1929, and confirmed as a teenager. At her funeral, her son John described three of her attributes as the love of words, the bonds of home and family, and the spirit of adventure. She was buried alongside President Kennedy, their son Patrick, and their stillborn daughter Arabella at Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia.
In her will, Onassis left her children Caroline and John an estate valued at $43.7 million by its executors.
Read more about this topic: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis
Famous quotes containing the word death:
““Promise me solemnly,” I said to her as she lay on what I believed to be her death bed, “if you find in the world beyond the grave that you can communicate with me—that there is some way in which you can make me aware of your continued existence—promise me solemnly that you will never, never avail yourself of it.” She recovered and never, never forgave me.”
—Samuel Butler (1835–1902)
“It is a sign of creeping inner death when we can no longer praise the living.”
—Eric Hoffer (1902–1983)