How to write a eulogy, with a free outline

A eulogy is a few minutes of true things about one person, said out loud to the people who loved them. It does not need to be clever or complete. It needs to sound like them, and like you. This guide gives you a free outline to fill in, a way to find the stories, and the small practical things nobody tells you about reading it on the day.

Our eulogy template, and a program if you are making one

Edit in Canva (a free account works) or Microsoft Word, print at home or at a print shop. Instant download.

If you are also making the program, our step-by-step guide covers that. If you get stuck on the eulogy itself, email hello@memorialpaper.com. We will read a draft and help.

How long should a eulogy be?

Three to five minutes. That is about 450 to 750 words, or two pages of large type. A eulogy that short feels complete; a longer one tires the room, and the people who most need to hear it are the ones with the least to give. If several people are speaking, two to three minutes each is kind to everyone.

If the service is a Catholic funeral Mass, ask the parish first. Many parishes allow one short set of words of remembrance, some place them at the vigil the evening before, and some prefer none at Mass. Our Catholic funeral Mass program guide explains what to ask.

The free eulogy outline

Copy this into a document or onto paper and fill in each part. Each part is one or two short paragraphs. You can leave out any that does not fit.

1. Who you are to them. One sentence. "I am Eleanor's eldest daughter." "I worked beside Eleanor for twenty years."

2. A thank-you. One sentence to the people in the room, and to anyone who cared for them at the end.

3. The outline of a life. Where they were born, where they grew up, the work they did, the people they made a home with. Keep it to a paragraph. The program's life story carries the full version, so you only need enough for everyone to know whose life this was.

4. One story that sounds like them. The heart of the eulogy. A single, specific moment: the thing they always said, the way they answered the door, the time they drove through the night. Tell it plainly, with the small details left in.

5. What they were like. Two or three qualities, each with a true example. "She was stubborn. She finished the crossword every day for forty years, in pen." Examples do the work that praise cannot.

6. What they gave you. What you learned from them, or what you carry forward. One paragraph.

7. A goodbye. Speak to them directly if you like, or to the room. A line from a poem or a verse can close it. Our poems and verses page has short ones that are free to use.

That is the whole shape. A sample, for a fictional person, is at the end of this page.

Finding the stories

The blank page is the hardest part, and the stories are usually not in your head yet. They are in other people's. Try these before you write a word:

Call two or three people who knew them in different parts of their life: a sibling, a friend from work, a neighbour. Ask one question: "What is the first thing you think of when you think of them?"
Write down, without stopping, every small thing you can remember: phrases, habits, the food they made, the song they sang in the car. Do not judge any of it. Ten minutes is enough.
Look through photos with someone. Say what you see out loud.
Notice what keeps coming up. That is your story for part 4, and your qualities for part 5.

Writing it

Write the way you talk. Short sentences. Plain words. If you would not say it across a kitchen table, do not say it at the lectern.
Specific beats general. "Generous" tells the room nothing. "She kept a jar of coins by the door for anyone who knocked" tells them everything.
Say their name. People want to hear it.
It is fine to be funny, if they were. A room that laughs together is a room that is grieving together.
You do not have to tell the whole truth, and you do not have to pretend. If the relationship was hard, speak to what was good, and say less rather than more.
Avoid saying what they would have wanted, or what they are doing now, unless you are sure your family shares that belief. "We will miss her" is always true.
Read it aloud as you write. Your ear will catch what your eye misses.

Reading it on the day

Print it in large type, 14 point or bigger, double spaced, with page numbers. Do not read from a phone; the screen dims and the text is small.
Mark where to breathe. A slash or a new line every sentence or two.
Go slower than feels natural. Grief makes people rush.
It is normal to cry. Stop, breathe, take a sip of water, and go on. No one in the room will mind. If you would rather not risk it, ask someone to stand beside you with a copy, ready to finish it for you.
Have a copy in your pocket and give one to the officiant or funeral director, in case.
Afterwards, give the eulogy to the family. Many families print it as a keepsake, or add the best lines to the program.

Where the eulogy goes in the service

Most services put the eulogy after the readings and before the closing music, under a heading such as "Eulogy", "Words of Remembrance", "Tribute" or "Reflections". The program lists it with the speaker's name, for example "Words of Remembrance, Sarah Whitfield-Brooks". If more than one person speaks, list each. Our Pressed Garden funeral program has a line for it in the order of service, and room on the inside page for a few lines from the eulogy if the family wants to keep them. Sample orders of service for different kinds of service are on our funeral program format page.

If you would rather fill in a template than start from a blank page, our eulogy template takes you through it one part at a time, with short prompts, room to write, a timing guide and a large-print copy to read from. Type it in Word or Google Docs, or print it and write by hand. The outline above stays free to copy and use.

A sample eulogy

For Eleanor Rose Whitfield, a fictional person, about 450 words. Read it to see the shape, then write your own.

I am Eleanor's eldest daughter, Sarah. On behalf of my brother Daniel, my sister Anne and all of our family, thank you for being here, and thank you to the nurses on the fourth floor who cared for Mum in her last weeks the way she cared for so many others.

Mum was born in 1941, the second of four children. She trained as a nurse at nineteen and did not stop for thirty-four years. She married Dad in 1963, and the two of them raised the three of us in a house where the kettle was always on and there was always room for one more at the table.

Here is the story I keep coming back to. When I was eight, our neighbour's son broke his arm falling off a wall, and his mother was out. Mum heard him crying from our garden. She was over the fence before anyone could blink, in her slippers, and she had his arm splinted with a wooden spoon and a tea towel before the ambulance arrived. The paramedic looked at the splint and said, "You've done this before." She said, "Every day for twenty years, love. Now mind his elbow."

That was Mum. She was practical. She was quick. And she never once made anyone feel like a bother.

She was also stubborn. She finished the crossword every morning, in pen, and if you suggested a word she had already rejected, you heard about it. She was generous in the way that costs something: she gave up her Saturdays for years to drive people to appointments they could not get to on their own, and she never mentioned it.

What Mum gave me was the idea that kindness is not a feeling. It is something you do, every day, whether or not you feel like it. I have not always managed it. But I know what it looks like, because I grew up watching it.

Mum, we will miss you more than we can say. Thank you for the kettle, and the crosswords, and the wooden spoon. Rest now. We have the table from here.