When my mother died I lost all sense of time and was often awake in the middle of the night, on my phone googling things like my mother just died, hoping the internet would provide some answers. If you found me here because you searched for how to write a eulogy or something similar, I am so sorry. You aren’t alone in this heartbreak. You will get through this. Note: I said through, not over. I’m sorry. You can do this, even though it might seem impossible right now. Here are a few important things you should know when writing your parent’s eulogy.

It will be messier than you expected. 

It’s very unfair to be expected to write such an important piece when you’ve just been hit with raw grief. You might not be functioning well. Early grief can bring a brain fog that makes even the simplest tasks feel impossible. Time is a blur. You likely won’t get to sit down with a clear head and neatly type up your mom or dad’s eulogy the way you would a paper for school or a letter to a friend. 

Write it down, get it all out. 

My brain randomly loses information and facts during normal times, and so when my mother died while I was on vacation in Florida, I asked a family member to get me a notebook and a good pen at the drugstore. Any kind, I said. I just need blank pages with lines. I needed the boundary of lined pages to hold me in, to contain my thoughts and keep them straight. 

Normally I find new notebooks delightfully thrilling and a bit mysterious, with their neat, empty pages, the smell of the crisp paper, and the endless potential for what I can write, doodle, and create inside. But the drugstore notebook scared me a bit. I knew I’d need it to get through the next few weeks, to be an adult who remembered All The Things, and yet those empty pages seemed to tell me you don’t know how to do this. I didn’t know what to write. I couldn’t get started. I couldn’t think about planning a funeral or writing a eulogy. I was stuck. 

The solution is to just write. Anything. I wrote my mother’s full name across the top of the first page. I wrote her birth date, then her death date. I started writing the names of family members who knew she died, and then all of the people who would want to know about her funeral. When little bits would surface in my mind throughout the day, I added them to my notebook. Things like her favorite colors: pink and gold and that super hot day when she gave in and let us have popsicles for dinner.    

You might be fine with unlined pages, and your notebook doesn’t need to be fancy, but having a place to scrawl your random thoughts and things that pop into your head can be helpful when you are newly navigating loss. Whether you carry around a pad of sticky notes, a blank notebook, or if you use a notes app on your phone, try to write down your thoughts as they come to you. When a memory, an image, or a feeling about your parent blooms in your mind, write it down right away. Even if it seems silly or small, jot it down. 

Keep your notebook with you and keep writing. Then when you have a chunk of time in which you feel up to starting the eulogy, you can look through your notes and add the best parts to your draft. 

Don’t forget about speech-to-text options.

Sometimes typing is hard. It takes energy you might not have when you are grieving. If sentences and full thoughts are too much, as they absolutely can be during raw grief, consider using a phone app that allows talk-to-text if you’re having trouble getting started. While I’m not particularly tech savvy, Google Keep and Google Docs have this function on the phone app, and I’m sure there are many others available. Tap the microphone button and get it all out, then sort out the sentences later when you feel ready. 

It will feel too big.

I procrastinated writing my mother’s eulogy for as long as possible. It felt too massive. How could I neatly sum up something as immense as my mother’s life, her impact, and how much she meant to me and everyone she knew in 500 to 1,000 words? It felt impossible, and so I just didn’t do it. I was fully drowning in grief and not functioning. I wasn’t feeding myself and didn’t know what time it was, and so I certainly didn’t have the ability to express my thoughts in the way she deserved. This eulogy was for her, and I feared I couldn’t deliver words that were good enough, eloquent enough, and that captured everything I needed to say. 

It was too big. And yet it needed to be written. Two nights before my mom’s funeral, awake in bed at 2am, I downloaded a basic writing app and poured out my eulogy on my phone. I cried and sobbed and typed in bed, holding my phone up in the dark. I needed to do this when no one was watching. It was messy and rough, but it came out and came to life. Much like when my first child was born, when after nearly 24 hours of agonizing labor and my body couldn’t stand it anymore, some force beyond my conscious mind took over and helped me, pulled me, and pushed me to pour my new baby out. It was like this with my mother’s eulogy. It was something wild and powerful, born under the cover and protection of solitude and silence in the stillness of night. I had been inwardly preparing for many days, as funeral logistics swirled around me and I completed more concrete tasks, signed papers, and paid the bills. When her eulogy came, the words and feelings swelled and flooded over me. With my thumbs on the screen in the dark, I did my best to copy them all down. The next day, in the light of day, it was easier to look at what I had created with new eyes, to take these sentences and clean them up, make them something other people could see and hear.   

Find your own voice. 

A eulogy isn’t like a formal speech. It doesn’t need to be fancy. Be yourself and write in your own voice. It’s likely not going to be neat and tidy and follow a determined path. Your mom or your dad was a unique individual. Their stories and memories and how you interpreted them are going to shape what you write. Don’t think about what a eulogy should be. Your eulogy is for you and your parent. It’s okay to not have a plan, to not follow an outline. 

It’s okay to be emotional. 

As I read my mother’s eulogy at the podium during her funeral mass, I realized quite clearly that I was going to do what I needed in that moment and not care what anyone in the seats was thinking. I let myself cry. I stopped and closed my eyes when I needed a moment before continuing. I made them wait. I held that space for my mother and for me and didn’t rush it. You don’t need to worry about making it to the end without crying. Let yourself take long pauses. It is okay to cry while reading. 

Follow an outline if you’re stuck.

If you’re absolutely stuck and worried that you just don’t have words right now, consider jotting a few bullets and creating a simple outline to follow, fill in, and expand upon over however much time you have.

Here is a basic framework with a few potential prompts to get you started if you’re feeling lost:

1. Open with a favorite memory or story about your mom or dad. One that fills you with joy. 
2. Say their name, and mention any key details about their early life.
3. Add a bit about their profession and/or any achievements that they valued.
4. Tell a personal story or explain two or three memories that feel important to you. 
5. Talk about the impact your mom or dad had on others.
6. Talk about the impact your mom or dad had on you.
7. Quote something they always used to say, or mention what they cherished in life. 
8. Consider adding a meaningful quote or poem, or citing song lyrics that remind you of your mom or dad.
9. Address those in attendance, asking them to join you in remembering your parent (or whatever action or request feels right to you). 
10. Close by addressing your mom or dad, to say goodbye or a sentiment you want to communicate to them. 
11. There are no rules for writing a eulogy. In the end, do what feels best to you.

Practice. Or not. 

I only practiced my mom’s eulogy in a whisper, to myself, in private. Often the advice is to practice aloud to another person, but that didn’t feel comfortable to me at the time. If this works for you, and you have a trusted person to listen, give this a try. 

Getting through it.

It certainly wasn’t easy reading my mother’s eulogy out loud into a microphone. It was painful to write and gut wrenching to read, but I am thankful that I did and that I had the opportunity to share it with my mom’s family and friends assembled at her funeral to remember her. The eulogy put my grief on display, and while I said the words I was vulnerable, bare and open as I delivered this wild and weighty thing to the people in the seats. I wanted them to feel my pain, but more than that I wanted them to know her and to love her as I did and to sense that tremendous loss. I ended up with just under one thousand words, crammed with as much intense love, remembering, and longing as I could pack in. 

And then it was over. The pressure that I had put on myself to deliver the perfect eulogy was gone. After the funeral, people came to tell me how much one particular thing or a certain part of the eulogy resonated with them. They shared their own stories and memories of my mother. Often I cried and nodded in reply, because it was all I could do.

In retrospect, I likely put too much pressure on myself to try to write something perfect for my mom. While writing and reading her eulogy was certainly important to me, it wasn’t the end. It wasn’t the only thing I would ever say. It wasn’t the last time I would talk to our family or her friends about her life. It wasn’t my only chance to love her, retell her funny stories, or show people just how amazing she was in life. 

And so if you find yourself beginning to draft a eulogy for your own mom or dad, just know that you can do this. Whether you write alone in the dark, or you jot down notes in a sunny room surrounded by family members sharing memories, just start getting the words on the page. In the end, whatever you produce willl be enough. 

Did you write a eulogy for your mom or dad? Leave a reply below to tell me your story.