How to Write a Eulogy When You Don't Know Where to Start

You've been asked to speak on Saturday. It's Thursday, you're grieving, and you're staring at a blank page. Maybe you said yes before you understood what it would feel like to actually do it. Maybe nobody asked - it was just assumed you would. Either way, here you are.

There is no single right way to do this. A eulogy doesn't have to cover a whole life, account for every relationship, or say the unsayable. It just has to be true. That's the only rule that matters.

A good eulogy is one story, told well

Eulogies don't need to be comprehensive. They don't need to run through a timeline of accomplishments or mention every name. What they need is one honest, specific moment that lets people see the person - not just hear facts about them.

A story has a beginning, a detail, and a feeling. That's enough. People don't leave a service remembering the list of clubs someone belonged to. They remember the detail that made them nod and think: yes, that was her exactly.

If you only have one memory clear enough to hold right now, that's enough. If you're nervous, that's normal. If you cry mid-sentence, the room will not fall apart - it will lean in. The people listening came to hear about someone they loved, and they already know this is hard.

A simple shape that works

A eulogy doesn't need a dramatic opening or a formal conclusion. It needs a shape. Here is one that works:

• Open with one sentence that puts you in the room with them. Not "I'm here to speak about my uncle." Something like: "My uncle kept a thermos of terrible coffee in his truck for forty years and offered it to everyone, even people who said no."

• Explain the story behind the detail. Keep it short. One paragraph is plenty.

• Add one thing that only you know, or that most people in the room won't have heard.

• Say what you want to say directly. What did this person mean to you. One or two sentences in plain words.

• Close simply. You don't need a grand finish. "I'm going to miss him every day" is a complete ending.

That's it. That's the whole shape.

Start by asking yourself what you actually remember

Before you write a word, sit quietly for ten minutes and ask yourself: what do I actually remember about this person? Not what you should remember, not what sounds right for a eulogy. What comes to you when you close your eyes.

It might be a sound - the way she laughed too loud in quiet places. It might be a habit - the way he always held the door long after everyone had already gone through. It might be something they said once, offhand, that stayed with you for years.

That is your starting point. Not an outline. Not a draft. Just the thing that comes first.

Include a detail only you know

The best eulogies contain at least one moment the audience hasn't heard before. Something small, specific, and real.

It doesn't have to be dramatic. Imagine a daughter standing up at her father's funeral and saying that every time she called him, he picked up on the first ring - not because he was waiting, just because that's who he was. The room goes quiet in a particular way. Everyone feels it, even the people who barely knew him.

That detail - the first ring - does more work than three paragraphs about what a devoted father he was.

Think about what made this person them. Not a summary. A moment. The specific way they did one specific thing.

Say what you wish you'd said, if you didn't get the chance

After the story, name what this person meant to you. Not a biography. A sentence or two about how they changed you, or what you learned from them, or what you'll carry.

Plain words work best here. "She taught me that it's okay to change your mind." "He showed me what it looks like to keep going when things are hard." "She made everyone feel like the most important person in the room."

Avoid the phrases that sound like eulogies but say nothing - "a light in our lives", "will live on in our hearts". Instead, try something like: "I still hear her voice when I'm making a hard decision." Specific is always more comforting than general, even when it's harder to say.

This part doesn't need to be long. Two or three sentences is enough. The story does the heavy lifting; this part just names what it means.

Let other people help you remember

If you're stuck, call someone who knew them. A sibling, a longtime friend, an old colleague. Ask: "What's one moment with her that you think people should know about?" or "Is there a story that always made everyone laugh?"

Imagine a grandson texting his uncle: "Do you remember anything funny about Grandpa from when you were kids?" He gets back a voice note, eight minutes long, about a camping trip that went wrong in the best possible way. He uses one minute of it. That's enough.

You don't have to use every story you hear. You're collecting material. Pick the one that feels most like the person you knew, or the one that makes you want to tell it. Old letters, photographs, and clippings can also work as memory prompts when words don't come easily - something to look through together before you start writing.

In a private Glow family space, relatives can add their own stories to shared photos - which can be a quiet way to gather memories before or after the service.

A note on humour

If the person who died was funny, say something funny. Laughter at a memorial service is not disrespectful - it's relief. It gives people permission to remember the whole person, not just the last weeks.

If humour wasn't their thing, don't force it. A eulogy should sound like you, and it should feel like them. Those two things together are all you need.

A short example - fictional, composite

Here is a short fictional eulogy to show how the shape holds together:

My grandmother made apricot jam every August. She started in the morning and didn't stop until every jar was filled and sealed and lined up on the counter in order of size. She said it was the only thing she did properly. I'm not sure that was true, but I know she believed it.

The last summer I was there for jam-making, she handed me a spoon and said: "Taste it. Now tell me what's missing." I didn't know. She said: "Nothing. But you always have to check." I think about that more than I expected to.

She taught me that care is something you do, not something you say. I'm going to miss her every day.

That's under 120 words - less than a minute aloud. A full eulogy of three to five minutes would add a second story or a little more about who she was, but the shape stays the same.

How to deliver it without falling apart

Read it aloud before the service - at least twice. Once slowly, once at the pace you think you'll speak. Time it. Most eulogies run 3 to 5 minutes, which is roughly 400 to 700 words spoken aloud. If yours is longer, cut it. The places to cut are almost always extra stories, or explanations of things the room already knows.

Print it in a large font. Hold the paper with both hands so it doesn't shake visibly. If you feel tears coming, pause, look down, breathe slowly through your nose. You don't have to rush through the hard parts. Nobody is timing you.

Rooms at memorial services tend to be far more forgiving of tears than the speaker expects. You are allowed to cry. You are not required to hold it together. You just have to keep going, word by word, until you're done.

If you're finding this hard

Grief makes it hard to think clearly, and being asked to speak about someone you just lost is a lot to carry. If you're sitting with a blank page and nothing is coming, that's not failure - that's grief doing what grief does. Ask someone to sit with you and talk through memories out loud. Let them write down what you say. Sometimes it also helps to look at what others have already gathered - if your family has kept hold of old photographs and documents, going through them together can bring back stories that felt out of reach - and it's worth keeping them safe from floods, fires and moves afterwards. And if this process has made you want to record the stories of other people you love before the chance passes, that instinct is worth following. You don't have to do this alone.