Ethel Kennedy faced unimaginable heartbreak throughout her life. Among the many tragedies she endured was the sudden loss of two of her sons. Take a closer look at the heartbreaking deaths of David and Michael Kennedy.
Ethel Kennedy, the wife of the late Senator Robert F. Kennedy, was a prominent figure in American history, known for her unwavering commitment to social justice and her strength in the face of family tragedies.
Ethel and Robert F. Kennedy boarding a plane for San Juan, Puerto Rico, in March 1966. | Source: Getty Images
Born into a political dynasty, she married into one of the most iconic American families. She and Robert raised 11 children, navigating both the highs of public service and the lows of personal loss.
Despite her remarkable resilience, Ethel was no stranger to heartache, having tragically lost two of her sons — David and Michael Kennedy — in sudden and devastating circumstances.
Ethel Kennedy at the Restore Ball in New York City on September 28, 1970. | Source: Getty Images
David, the fourth of Ethel’s children, led a life deeply affected by trauma. At just 13 years old, he witnessed the assassination of his father on live television, an event that haunted him for the rest of his life.
Despite his promising beginnings, the emotional toll of his father’s death led David down a path of addiction. On April 25, 1984, he was found dead in his hotel room in Palm Beach, Florida, at 28.
David and Chris Kennedy watching a tennis match with their cousin, Ted Kennedy Jr., on August 25, 1974. | Source: Getty Images
He had struggled with drug and alcohol addiction for many years, and while his cause of death wasn’t immediately clear, investigators eventually ruled out suicide.
There were ”no signs of foul play,” said Sergeant Henry L. Marchman, spokesman for the Police Department of Palm Beach. The results of a preliminary autopsy tonight were being studied, as officials suspected it was an accidental overdose.
David Kennedy at the Democratic National Convention on July 15, 1976, in New York. | Source: Getty Images
David, who resided in Boston, traveled to Palm Beach to visit his grandmother, Rose Kennedy, who was in poor health. His body was discovered by a hotel secretary, Elizabeth Barnett, around 11:30 a.m. after a family member called to check if he had left for his flight.
When there was no response from his room phone, the hotel staff were instructed to investigate, according to hotel spokesman Gerald H. Beebe Jr.
David Kennedy in New York in 1984. | Source: Getty Images
The spokesman noted that hotel staff had seen David the previous Tuesday, describing him as being in good spirits. A desk clerk even recalled him waving as he passed the front desk.
David’s uncle, Senator Edward Kennedy, reflected on his nephew’s troubled life, stating, “We all pray that David has finally found the peace that he did not find in life.” The Kennedy family were no strangers to tragedy and mourned deeply, but the heartbreak did not end there.
Members of the Kennedy family escorted by Ethel Kennedy carrying the casket of David Kennedy from the hearse to the Kennedy House on May 4, 1984. | Source: Getty Images
Thirteen years later, in 1997, another devastating blow struck Ethel when her son Michael died in a skiing accident. Known for his adventurous spirit, Michael was skiing in Aspen, Colorado, when he collided with a tree, resulting in his immediate death at 39.
Michael Kennedy and Vicky Gifford at Attorney Roy Cohn’s birthday party in New York City on February 22, 1981. | Source: Getty Images
Michael had faced controversy in the years leading up to his death due to an alleged affair with the family’s babysitter. The scandal even affected his brother Joseph P. Kennedy II’s political aspirations.
My MIL decorated a Christmas tree at 70 — just pathetic!
The sight that greeted me as I walked into my mother-in-law’s living room nearly made me choke on my own breath. Towering over the pristine white carpet stood a magnificent Christmas tree, its branches laden with twinkling lights and a dazzling array of ornaments.
“Merry Christmas!” my mother-in-law chirped, her face beaming with an almost childlike glee.
I managed a weak smile, my inner monologue a raging torrent of disbelief. “Oh, it’s… it’s lovely,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very festive.”
She beamed. “I spent all afternoon decorating it. It reminds me of my childhood, decorating the tree with my mother before she passed away.”
“Oh,” I said, my voice flat. “Sentimental, I suppose.”
“It brings me joy,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a beautiful tradition.”
Joy? At her age? At 70 years old, shouldn’t she be focusing on more important things? Like, I don’t know, spending time with her grandkids? Enjoying her golden years? Instead, she was wasting her time and money on a childish frivolity.
“It must have cost a fortune,” I remarked, my voice laced with disdain. “All those ornaments, the lights… You could have bought something useful for the kids with that money.”
Her smile faltered. “They have everything they need.”
“They could always use more,” I countered, my voice hardening. “College funds, maybe? Or maybe you could help us with the mortgage.”
My mother-in-law’s face, once radiant with joy, now wore a look of hurt. “I… I thought you’d be happy for me,” she stammered.
“Happy?” I scoffed. “Why would I be happy? You’re wasting your time and money on something that’s completely frivolous at your age.”
The rest of the visit was awkward. My mother-in-law, her eyes filled with disappointment, retreated to the corner of the room, her joy extinguished by my callous words. My husband, sensing the tension, tried to mediate, but I was too caught up in my own indignation to listen.
As we drove away, I felt a strange sense of unease creeping over me. My words, sharp and cruel, echoed in my ears. I had hurt her, deeply. And for what? For a Christmas tree?
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The image of my mother-in-law, sitting alone in the living room, her eyes filled with sadness, haunted me. I realized that my own materialistic values had blinded me to the true meaning of joy, the importance of cherished memories, and the simple pleasures of life.
The next day, I returned to my mother-in-law’s house, a bouquet of flowers in hand. I apologized for my insensitive remarks. I explained that I was wrong, that her happiness was more important than any material possession.
To my surprise, she accepted my apology with grace. “It’s alright, dear,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I understand. But you know, decorating this tree brought me more joy than anything else could have.”
As I watched her gaze lovingly at the sparkling tree, I finally understood. True happiness wasn’t about accumulating wealth or striving for material possessions. It was about finding joy in the simple things, about cherishing memories, and about embracing the magic of the holiday season.
That Christmas, I helped my mother-in-law decorate the tree. And as I watched her face light up with joy, I realized that I had learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes, the most precious gifts are the ones that can’t be bought, the ones that come from the heart. The sight that greeted me upon entering my mother-in-law’s living room nearly made me choke on my own breath. Standing tall in the corner, a veritable beacon of misplaced enthusiasm, was a towering Christmas tree, dripping with ornaments and twinkling lights.
“Merry Christmas!” she chirped, her voice a little too high-pitched, a little too…childlike.
I managed a weak smile. “Merry Christmas, Mom,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm I couldn’t quite control. “That’s… quite the tree.”
She beamed, “Isn’t it lovely? Took me all morning. I even found some of my old ornaments from when I was a child.”
“Oh, that’s… nice,” I mumbled, my eyes rolling involuntarily.
“It reminds me of my mother,” she continued, her voice softening. “We used to decorate the tree together every year. She would tell me stories about Christmases past, about her childhood.”
My jaw tightened. “Well, that’s… sweet,” I said through gritted teeth. “But don’t you think you’re a bit old for this? You should be focusing on spending time with your grandchildren, enjoying your retirement.”
My mother-in-law’s smile faltered. “I enjoy this,” she said quietly. “It brings me joy.”
“Joy?” I scoffed. “At your age? You should be focusing on more important things, like, I don’t know, your health, your finances.”
Her eyes, once sparkling with delight, now held a hint of hurt. “I’m perfectly healthy,” she retorted, her voice rising. “And I don’t need your lectures on how to spend my money. I worked hard for it, and I’ll spend it however I choose.”
The argument escalated from there. I accused her of being childish, of wasting her time and money on frivolous pursuits. She countered with accusations of being selfish and materialistic, of not understanding the importance of family traditions.
As I stormed out, the image of the glittering Christmas tree, a symbol of her joy and her past, haunted me. I had been so focused on my own needs, on my own desires, that I had failed to see the simple joy that this seemingly insignificant act brought to my mother-in-law.
That night, as I lay awake, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt. Had I been too harsh? Was it really so wrong for her to cling to a cherished childhood memory?
The next morning, I returned to my mother-in-law’s house, a bouquet of flowers in hand. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday,” I said sincerely. “I was wrong. The tree is beautiful, and I can see how much it means to you.”
A surprised smile spread across her face. “Thank you, dear,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “It means a lot to me that you understand.”
As I helped her decorate cookies with my children, I realized that true happiness wasn’t about accumulating wealth or striving for material possessions. It was about finding joy in the simple things, about cherishing memories, and about appreciating the beauty of the present moment.
And as I watched my children’s eyes light up at the sight of the glittering Christmas tree, I knew that my mother-in-law, in her own way, had given them a gift far more precious than any material possession: the gift of a cherished memory, a reminder of the magic of the holiday season, and the enduring power of family traditions.
From that day on, I looked at the Christmas tree with a newfound appreciation. It was no longer a symbol of childishness or a waste of money; it was a testament to the enduring power of joy, a reminder to cherish the simple pleasures, and a beautiful reflection of the woman who had given me the greatest gift of all – the love of my children.
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