How to give a eulogy

A eulogy is a way to say a person's name out loud and to leave the room with one picture of them. It is not a full life in order, and it is not a test of how much you loved them. If several people are speaking, decide which years or which rooms belong to you so you are not all telling the same hospital week. Aim for about six or seven minutes unless the family asked for less. Shorter is a kindness when the service is long and people are standing. Write the name the way the family wants it said, including a nickname only if they welcome it in public. Practice in a quiet room once, and notice where your throat closes, then put a short sentence after that spot so you can land somewhere solid. You are allowed to be brief. Brief is not cold.

Ask the officiant where you should stand and whether a microphone will be on, because a chapel and a graveside need different volume. Hold paper rather than a phone if your hands are unsteady, since a phone goes dark and asks for a passcode at the worst moment. Look at the family for a moment when you start, then look just above the gathered people so you are not locking eyes through the hardest line. Water should be within reach, and you should take it before you begin if your mouth is dry. If someone weeps loudly, you do not have to stop the whole talk, but you can pause one breath so you are not talking over a sob. Do not ask the room to cheer unless the family wants that kind of goodbye. Many rooms need quiet more than they need a rally. Sit near the front afterward so you are not walking the length of the aisle while the next person starts.

Say the name in the first sentence, along with who you were to them. "My name is Ruth, and I was Luis's neighbor for nineteen years." That tells mourners why you are the one at the front. Do not open with a quote you cannot source, and do not open with a joke unless the family has heard it and wants it. Thank people for coming only if it will not swallow the time, and keep that thanks to a single line. Tell the room you will share one scene and a few habits, which keeps you from drifting into every decade. If you are afraid of crying, say nothing about the fear and start the scene. The scene gives your voice a job. A warning that you might not get through it makes the family worry about you instead of hearing about Luis.

Name, relationship, one scene, and a habit will hold the talk if you refuse to cover the entire biography.

Choose a scene that shows how Luis treated an ordinary problem. Maybe he walked a spare plate of food to a sick neighbor, or he fixed a gate and stayed for coffee he did not really want. Use the place and the time of day so the picture has edges. Include a habit that people in the room will recognize, such as the way he whistled in the driveway or the way he saved rubber bands in a jar. One habit is a portrait, and five habits are a list that blurs. If there is a hard part of his life the family wants named, name it in their words and do not diagnose it. You are not there to explain an illness, a debt, or a feud. You are there to keep a person from turning into a date range. If you did not witness a famous family story, let the person who witnessed it tell that story. Your scene from the driveway is enough. Avoid saying he is "in a better place" unless that phrase belongs to the family's own belief and they asked for it. A belief you do not share, spoken as fact, can hurt the people closest to the casket.

End on a concrete picture rather than a lesson for the living. "I will hear that whistle when I pull into the driveway" gives the room something to carry, while "he would want us to be strong" puts work on grieving people. Thank the family for letting you speak, in one line, if thanks are still unsaid. Then stop. Do not add a poem you have not read aloud, because a stumble in the last inch is hard to watch. If you lose your place, read the last paragraph you marked in the margin and sit down. Sitting down is a mercy. Leave the microphone as you found it. If there is a reception, you can tell more stories in a chair, one listener at a time, where a detail can be questioned and corrected without a crowd.

Cut the score-settling and the surprise revelation. Cut the detailed medical sequence unless a relative wrote it and asked you to read their version. Cut jokes about other mourners. Cut advice about how to grieve. Cut any sentence that starts by ranking your pain against someone else's. Here is a practice line composed for this page, and it does not come from a real service. "I was probably closer to him than most of the people here, so I think I should be the one to say what he truly wanted." That line starts a contest. Delete it and return to the gate, the plate of food, or the jar of rubber bands. If a paragraph makes the talk about your guilt, move that paragraph to a journal and keep the eulogy about Luis.