Duned JackA guide from Duned Jack
How to write a eulogy for your mom
If you are reading this, the eulogy has probably fallen to you, and the service is only days away. This page gives you a way to start tonight: how to begin, a structure that holds, how long it should be, and a sample opening to steady you. Take what helps and leave the rest.
Start with one memory, not a summary
Most eulogies fail because they try to sum up a whole life in a few minutes. Nobody can do that, and the attempt is what makes writing feel impossible. Start smaller: pick one memory of your mom that feels like her, not the most important one. A habit, a saying, a scene you keep replaying. Write that scene down as if you were telling one person, not a room. The first two sentences are the hardest; after a real memory, the next ones usually follow.
A structure that holds
If you want a shape, this one has carried a lot of speakers through:
- Open with the one memory you trust yourself to read without rushing.
- Briefly say who she was to you: your mom, your mother-in-law, the person next door.
- Give 2 or 3 short stories, in the order they happened or not at all.
- Say what you will keep from her: a habit, a phrase, a way of treating people.
- End simply. Say goodbye in your own words. You do not need a grand last line.
How long should it be?
About 4 minutes is a good target, which is roughly 500 to 600 words read at a calm pace. Shorter is fine; much longer is hard on you and on the room. Read it aloud once while you write, and cut anything you stumble over twice. If you break down partway through, that is allowed: pause, breathe, and pick up at the next sentence.
What to leave out
Leave out anything that settles an old score, and anything you are including for people outside the family. Leave out the complete chronology: nobody remembers dates at a funeral, but they remember one true story. And leave out pressure to be eloquent. The room is not judging the writing. They are listening for her, through you.
A sample opening
This opening is fictional and written as an example. Use it to see the shape, not as words to borrow:
My mom, Anne, believed a messy kitchen was a sign of a day spent well. After Sunday baking it looked like a flour truck had stopped in it. She baked anyway, nearly every week, for 40 years. I only understood later what that cost her, and what it gave us.
When the words will not come
Some nights the blank page wins, and that is not a failing. Duned Jack asks you a few gentle questions about your mom, one at a time, then writes a eulogy that sounds like you. You read the opening before you pay anything, and the full eulogy, rewrites for 30 days, a practice audio and printable cue cards are $29, one time. If a quiet interview sounds easier than a blank page, start your eulogy here.
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