Tatiana Schlossberg, a journalist, author and lifelong seasonal resident of Aquinnah, died on Dec. 30. The cause, as reported in national news outlets, was leukemia, which she battled for a year and half and wrote about in a heartbreaking essay for the New Yorker published in November, entitled A Battle With My Blood.

She was 35.

Ms. Schlossberg was the daughter of Caroline Kennedy and Edwin Schlossberg, and the granddaughter of John F. Kennedy and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.

During her career, she worked as a reporter for the New York Times, The Record in New Jersey, wrote for numerous publications such as the Atlantic, The Washington Post and Vanity Fair, and published the book Inconspicuous Consumption: The Environmental Impact You Don’t Know You Have.

She was also, in the summer of 2011, an intern at the Vineyard Gazette. She was 21 years old, had just completed her junior year at Yale, and like interns before and after her, occupied a cubbyhole space by the printer, seated next to boxes of materials waiting to be filed, an assortment of old typewriters and a paper cutter that had not been used in nearly a decade.

From this perch, she wrote about all aspects of the Vineyard, from filmmakers and poets, to stonemasons, gospel singers and essential Island organizations. In each article, she wrote with a depth and maturity that belied her young age. Both serious and funny, she possessed a smile that pulsed with energy and life. And she represented her full self on the page as witnessed in her countless pieces that summer.

Consider her opening to a profile on John Maloney, the Vineyard’s stonemason poet, setting the mood from the start: “Boulders, looking like the playthings of giants, are strewn over the rolling banks of South Road. Tumbling down from the walls, the rocks stand guard at this thoroughfare as they have done for hundreds of years, witnesses to all that has happened here, even as they shift with the changes in land and weather.”

In a piece on the Island’s hospice organization, instead of simply interviewing the executive director, Ms. Schlossberg sat down with the entire group of women who ran the organization at the time, the better to impart the full feeling of the work they did.

“On Tuesday afternoon each of the women spoke of their unique understanding of the end of life and their ability and desire to pass that along to their patients and families,” she wrote. “Throughout the seasonal celebration, they spoke of the varied life experiences that enable them to speak sensitively and sensibly about death. While this willingness to confront the idea might seem exceptionally courageous to some, for these women it is simply about being in touch with the wisdom of the ages.”

In a 2019 interview with the Gazette, when her book Inconspicuous Consumption was part of the Martha’s Vineyard Book Festival, she noted how her Vineyard experiences influenced her decision to become an environmental reporter and write a book on climate change, one that didn’t scold, preferring to offer as many manageable solutions as possible.

“Being able to come to the Vineyard in the summers like I have, obviously gives me an incredible appreciation for natural beauty and low-lying coastal places,” she said.

“A lot of the people on the science desk are experts,” she continued. “But the great thing about being a reporter is that you don’t have to be an expert. You can learn on the job.”

Ms. Schlossberg did indeed learn on the job, and she also taught her readers in the most effective way — through insight, humor and honesty.

In her New Yorker essay, she opens by writing: “When you are dying, at least in my limited experience, you start remembering everything. Images come in flashes — people and places and stray conversations — and refuse to stop. I see my best friend from elementary school as we make a mud pie in her back yard, top it with candles and a tiny American flag, and watch, in panic, as the flag catches fire.”

The reader already knows, from the first three sentences, that this will be a tough ride, but Ms. Schlossberg’s voice is so powerful, comforting even, that to stop reading is impossible. The essay never looks away from the harsh truth of what is happening to her, and yet it is fueled not with despair but by love — of family, of people, of life. It was the same way she approached every story.

The Gazette sends its condolences to the entire Schlossberg/Kennedy/Moran families.