How to write a eulogy: 7 questions that unlock the words

Writing a eulogy is one of the hardest writing tasks anyone is ever asked to do. The deadline is brutal, the audience is grieving, and the subject is someone you loved.

Most people get stuck at the same place: trying to capture the wholeperson. You can't. Nobody can. A eulogy is not a biography. It's a portrait — a chosen angle, lit a particular way, made small enough for a room to hold for seven minutes.

What follows is the way professional celebrants actually do this. Seven questions to ask. A length to aim for. A structure that holds. And a delivery method that survives the day.

Before you write anything: sit with two people who knew them

Not on the phone. In person, with tea, for an hour. Take notes — short ones, just keywords. The eulogy is built out of what these conversations turn up, not out of your memory alone.

If you only have one person to talk to (a partner, perhaps, who's now alone), an hour with them is still better than two days at the kitchen table on your own.

The seven questions

Ask these in roughly this order. Don't write the eulogy as you go — just take notes. Writing happens later, when you're alone and the material is rich.

1. What were they called?

Their full name, the nicknames, the names different people used. The mother who called them "love", the kids who called her "Mum" or "Mam", the grandchildren who invented a name for her when they were two and it stuck. Names carry rooms. Use the right ones.

2. Where did their life happen?

Where they grew up. Where they worked. Where they raised family. Where they spent the Saturday afternoons that defined them. Not a chronological list of addresses — the two or three places that mattered.

3. What did they actually care about?

Not what they pretended to care about, or what they did because they had to. What lit them up. The football team, the allotment, the dog, the boat, the kids, the choir, the craft, the cause. Pick two or three.

4. What's one story that captures them?

A single specific incident — half a page long — that says more about who they were than five paragraphs of adjectives ever will. Most eulogies have a moment like this and most audiences remember it ten years later. The eulogy is built around this story.

5. What did they teach or pass on?

Not necessarily wisdom — sometimes a recipe, a habit, a phrase the family still uses, a way of doing something. The grandfather who insisted everyone shake hands properly. The mother whose roast potatoes nobody can replicate. The relentless dad-jokes that have outlived him.

6. What was difficult, that we shouldn't pretend away?

The hard question. A eulogy that pretends a person was perfect rings false to everyone in the room — particularly to the people who knew them best. You don't have to recite their faults. You do have to acknowledge that the person was a whole human.

This might be addiction. A long illness. A stubbornness that made them maddening. An estrangement, healed or not. Handled with care, naming the difficult thing makes the love feel earned rather than sentimental.

7. What would they want said today?

The grounding question. Often the answer is: not too much. Often it's: don't make me sound posher than I was. Often it's: tell them I loved them, that'll do. Whatever it is, write to that voice.

How long should it be?

Seven minutes is the sweet spot. That's roughly 900-1,000 words, spoken at a steady pace with pauses. Five minutes is too short to do justice. Ten minutes is too long for the room to hold — grief makes time stretch, and what feels brisk in your kitchen feels endless from a pew.

If you've written 1,400 words, cut. The way to cut: read it aloud and remove anything that doesn't carry weight in your own mouth. Lists of qualities go first. Adjectives that have done no real work go second. Whole sentences that just bridge two paragraphs go third.

The structure that holds

Five sections. Don't signpost them as you write — just let them happen.

• Opening (~80 words):Who you are, what your relationship to the deceased was, and a single sentence that orients the room to who you're about to describe.
• The life (~250 words): Where they grew up, the shape of their adult life, what they did, who they loved. Not chronological — thematic. The headlines, in the order that matters.
• The story (~250 words): The single specific anecdote that captures them. The bit the room will remember.
• What they leave behind (~200 words): The passed-on thing. The recipe, the habit, the phrase, the way of being. Acknowledge the difficult thing too if it belongs here.
• Goodbye (~120 words):A direct line to them. "Dad, we will…", "Mum, thank you…". Brief. Honest. Then sit down.

Three things to leave out

Don't list every relative.The funeral programme already names everyone. Pick the people whose absence shapes the deceased's story; leave the rest.

Don't recite the CV. Jobs are only interesting if they say something about who the person was — the postman who knew every dog on his round, yes; a list of seven employers, no.

Don't apologise for the eulogy."I knew them so well I don't know where to start" doesn't comfort anyone. Start.

Delivering it without falling apart

Almost everyone is scared they'll cry. Many do. It is absolutely fine, and the room is on your side. A few practical things that help:

• Print it large.14pt or bigger, double-spaced, one side per page. Tearful eyes can't read small print.
• Mark your breaths. A slash mark every two or three sentences. Breath where the slash is. It sounds obvious. Under stress, people forget to breathe and the voice goes.
• Have a glass of water at the lectern. The moment you feel tears coming up, drink. The act of swallowing resets the voice.
• Have a backup.Hand a copy to the celebrant or another family member, with permission to step in and finish if you can't. Knowing the safety net is there is often what stops you needing it.
• Don't look at faces in the first row. Look slightly over their heads, at the back wall. You can't do this and cry at the same time.

If you can't do it yourself

Nobody will think less of you if you can't. Many celebrants will read the eulogy on your behalf and do a beautiful job. Write what you want said; let someone with a steady professional voice carry it.

Often the most powerful version is a mix — the celebrant reads most of it, and you stand up for the last paragraph, the direct goodbye. That way the room hears the eulogy in full, and they hear you when it counts.