100 Blog Posts Later: What Writing About Eulogies Has Taught Me About Life

This is my 100th blog post! Can you believe that? I'm not sure I can, but here we are!

When I started PostScript Eulogies following the death of my own parents, I knew I wanted to have a blog on the website to showcase my work, but I wasn't entirely sure how much there was to say beyond the most obvious topics. After all, a eulogy is a relatively simple concept. Someone dies, someone is asked to stand up at a funeral and say a few words about their life, and those words are intended to honour and remember them.

How much could there possibly be to explore? As it turns out, quite a lot!

In my previous 99 blogs, I've written about all sorts of topics including how to write a eulogy, what to include, what to leave out, how to approach difficult relationships, estranged parents, remembering friends, finding humour in grief, talking about illness, writing for children, collaborating with family and the challenge of finding the right words when you feel as though you have none. I've even written my own eulogies for some famous people who have passed away and meant something to me, as my own personal tribute. If you have some spare time, please take a look at some of my previous blogs; I'm sure you'll find something that interests you.

100 Blog Posts Later: What Writing About Eulogies Has Taught Me About Life

Whilst I've written about the practicalities of eulogy writing in a multitude of forms, I've also found myself writing about something much bigger.

People.

As my business grew, I realised that the more you listen to someone's story, the more you realise that a eulogy isn't really about death. It's about a life.

So 100 blog posts later, I wanted to look at what writing about eulogies has taught me about life. Yours and mine. I've condensed these ideas into a top ten of sorts and thought that would make a fitting theme to build my 100th post around, so here goes!

1. Every Life Has A Story Worth Telling

We can sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that an interesting life is one filled with extraordinary achievements.

Perhaps someone travelled the world, built a successful business, raised a large family, achieved something remarkable or overcame enormous adversity. Those stories are naturally compelling, and they can make wonderful material for a eulogy, but some of the most moving stories are about people whose lives would never make a newspaper.

Whether that's the grandmother who never missed a birthday, the father who always arrived early because he hated being late, the friend who could make an entire room laugh, the mother who made the same Sunday dinner every week or the work colleague who remembered everybody's name after only meeting them once.

These things may not sound significant in the great scheme of things, but they can be enormously significant to the people who experienced them.

A good eulogy isn't necessarily about explaining why someone was important to the world. Sometimes it's about explaining why they were important to you, and that is a very different thing.

2. Nobody is Perfect (And That's OK)

One of the most interesting things about writing about eulogies is the expectation that someone should somehow become perfect when they die.

Suddenly, difficult personalities become "strong-minded". Bad habits become "endearing quirks". Arguments disappear from the story. Nobody apparently ever disagreed with anyone else.

But real people are complicated. Families are complicated. Relationships are complicated, and lives are complicated.

I've written before about whether a eulogy should be completely honest, and I think the answer is more nuanced than simply saying "yes" or "no".

A eulogy isn't, nor should it be, an opportunity to settle scores or expose someone's secrets. A funeral is not the place to air every grievance you've ever had, but neither does a tribute have to pretend that someone was perfect. None of us is.

Perhaps one of the greatest lessons I've learned is that honesty and kindness aren't necessarily opposites. You can acknowledge that someone was stubborn, mischievous, difficult, unconventional or occasionally infuriating while still making it abundantly clear that they were loved.

In fact, sometimes those imperfections are precisely what make a tribute feel authentic.

After all, we're not mourning saints. We're remembering people.

3. The Little Things Often Matter Most

In my experience, when people sit down to write a eulogy, they often start with the big things.

• Where someone was born.

• Where they went to school.

• What job they did.

• Who they married.

• Where they lived.

• Their children.

• Their achievements.

All of these things can be useful, but they don't necessarily tell us who someone was.

For that, you often need the little things.

• What did they always say?

• What made them laugh?

• What annoyed them?

• What did they cook?

• What music did they listen to?

• What was their favourite place?

• What ridiculous habit did everyone in the family know about?

• What did they do that nobody else did?

These kinds of details might seem insignificant, but they can suddenly make someone come alive in the minds of those listening. Perhaps that is one of the most important principles of eulogy writing I learned early on is this. Don't just tell us what someone did. Show us who they were.

After all, a small, specific, even insignificant memory can sometimes say more about a person than an entire page of achievements.

4. Relationships Rarely Fit Neatly Into Boxes

Over the course of writing about eulogies, I've returned repeatedly to complicated relationships. Whether that's estranged parents, difficult siblings, broken friendships, families who have fallen out, people who loved each other deeply but didn't always get along, people who were separated for years and reconciled shortly before death and people whose relationships remained unresolved.

We often like neat Hollywood-style endings, but life doesn't always provide them.

One of the hardest things about writing a eulogy can be deciding how to acknowledge a relationship that wasn't straightforward. The best answer I've found isn't necessarily to pretend the difficulties didn't exist. Nor is it to make the eulogy a catalogue of grievances. Sometimes the most appropriate approach is simply to recognise the relationship for what it was.

There can be love alongside frustration. Sadness alongside anger. Gratitude alongside regret, and sometimes there can be no easy conclusion at all.

A person's death doesn't automatically resolve every complicated feeling left behind.

A good eulogy can allow those feelings to exist without allowing them to overwhelm the tribute.

5. We Need Humour (Even When We're Grieving)

The third blog I published on this site was about the role of humour in eulogies. I think there is something fascinating about humour at funerals. I completely understand that people sometimes feel almost guilty about laughing, or they worry that if they laugh during a eulogy, they're somehow being disrespectful.

Personally, I've always thought that a carefully chosen funny story can be one of the most affectionate ways to remember somebody.

Think about the people you love. Would you really want everyone to remember them as serious, solemn and endlessly dignified? Probably not.

Most of us are ridiculous at least some of the time. We tell bad jokes. We make mistakes. We embarrass our children (sometimes deliberately, sometimes accidentally). We develop strange habits. We say things we probably shouldn't. Those moments are part of our lives too, but the key is context.

Humour shouldn't be forced into a eulogy simply because you think a funeral needs a laugh. But if someone was funny, and there is a story that captures their personality, why shouldn't people laugh?

Sometimes a room full of people laughing at exactly the same memory can be incredibly moving. For a few seconds, everyone isn't thinking about the fact that the person has died. They're remembering what it was like when that person was there.

6. There is No Such Thing as a Perfect Eulogy

Perhaps one of the biggest misconceptions about writing a eulogy is that you have to get every word exactly right. You don't.

Of course, a eulogy should be thoughtful. It should be appropriate. It should reflect the person being remembered, but it doesn't have to be a masterpiece of literature. It doesn't need to contain perfect sentences. It doesn't need to sound like something written by a professional writer. Most importantly, it doesn't need to make everyone cry.

A eulogy has one fundamental job: to remember someone and communicate why they mattered.

Sometimes the simplest words do that best. Whether that's something as simple as"

• "I'll miss you".

• "I can't believe you're not here".

• "You were an amazing dad".

• "She made everyone feel welcome".

• "I'll never forget that laugh".

You don't need to be a writer to realise that these aren't sophisticated literary constructions, but they're simple, and they're true. Trust me, when someone is grieving, truth is often far more powerful than eloquence.

7. Writing a Eulogy Can Become Part of Grieving

When you're asked to write a eulogy, especially if you don't do it for a living as I do, it can initially feel like another responsibility at a time when you already have too much to deal with. There are arrangements to make, people to contact, decisions to take and emotions to navigate.

Then someone says: "Could you write the eulogy?" I have no doubt it can feel overwhelming, but the process of writing can also become part of the grieving process itself.

As hard as it might be, you start looking through photographs. You read old messages. You talk to family members. You remember holidays. You find yourself laughing at something you'd completely forgotten. You discover stories you didn't know. You might even learn something new about the person you've lost.

Writing forces you to stop for a moment and remember, and in the middle of grief, that can be incredibly valuable. Obviously it doesn't make the loss disappear, but it can help transform a collection of painful memories into a story about a whole life.

8. We Remember How People Made Us Feel

This may be one of the most important lessons of all. People are rarely remembered simply because of what they achieved. They're remembered because of how they made other people feel.

Did they make you feel safe?

Did they make you laugh?

Did they listen?

Did they make you feel welcome?

Did they believe in you?

Did they make ordinary days better?

Did they make you feel that you mattered?

Those are difficult things to put into a biography because they don't necessarily have dates attached to them.

But they are often the things that remain long after the factual details have faded.

When you're writing a eulogy, therefore, don't just ask:

"What did they do?"

Ask:

"What was it like to be around them?"

That question can take you somewhere much more meaningful.

9. A Eulogy is About the Living Too

Technically, the person being remembered is the subject of the eulogy, but they aren't the only audience.

The people sitting in front of you are carrying their own memories, their own grief and their own relationship with the person who has died. For me, a good eulogy gives those people something to hold onto.

It might make someone think, "I remember that". It might introduce a story they'd never heard. It might make a family laugh together for the first time since the death. It might give someone permission to cry. It might even help someone understand a person they thought they knew differently.

Whatever the reason, this is why writing a funeral speech isn't simply about putting facts onto a page. You're creating something that will be heard at a very particular moment in people's lives. That's quite a responsibility, and it's one of the reasons professional eulogy writing is about much more than simply being able to write well.

It is about listening. It is about asking the right questions. It is about understanding what matters and sometimes, it's about knowing what not to say.

10. Writing About Death has Taught me to Pay More Attention to Life

Finally, this is the biggest lesson of all. Writing about death has made me think much more about life. By which I mean thinking about the things we leave behind. About the stories people tell about us. About the relationships we nurture. About the memories we create without realising we're creating them.

Why?

Because one day, someone may be asked to stand up and describe who we were.

What will they say?

Will they remember our job title? Probably not.

Will they remember how much money we earned? Probably not.

Will they remember whether the kitchen was always tidy? Hopefully not.

They'll remember the conversations we had. The laughter we gave them. The holidays we went on. The arguments we had. The hugs we gave. The silly moments we shared. The traditions we upheld. The things we did for other people. The things we said. The things we perhaps never said. They'll remember how we made them feel.

Perhaps that is why writing eulogies for you all has become such a rewarding part of my life. Every life leaves something behind. Sometimes it is enormous. Sometimes it is barely visible, but it is there. When someone asks me (or you) to write a eulogy, what you're really being asked to do is find it. Don't ever forget that. I know I won't.

The PostScript: 100 Blog Posts Down. What's Next?

So, that's 100 posts done! One hundred opportunities to explore what it means to remember someone. One hundred conversations about grief, loss, family, relationships, funerals and the extraordinary challenge of putting someone's life into words.

If I've learned anything in these last two years, it's that there is no shortage of things to say because every person is different. Every life is different. Every family is different. Every relationship is different, and every goodbye is different.

That's why I don't think there will ever be a definitive guide to writing the perfect eulogy.

There can't be. The perfect eulogy for one person would be completely wrong for another. What matters is that the words are appropriate, authentic and meaningful, and sometimes, finding those words is harder than it sounds.

I've come to realise that's where a professional eulogy writer like me can help. Not by taking away the memories or emotions that belong to a family, but by listening to those stories and helping turn them into a tribute that sounds like the person being remembered. Because ultimately, that's what I've come to believe a eulogy should do.

It shouldn't simply tell us that someone lived. It should remind us what made their life matter, and perhaps, after 100 blog posts about death, that's the biggest lesson I could have learned about life.

Finally, I wanted to say a huge thank you to you. If you've supported me by reading this post, or any of the 99 that preceded it. If you've entrusted me to write a eulogy for your loved one in the last two years. If you've connected with me on social media or read my Substack. If you've reposted, shared or liked one of my posts over the years. Thank you. It means more than you can know.

Now I'd Like to Hear From You!

This is my 100th post, but I'd like the next 100 to be shaped by the people who read these articles. What would you like me to write about next?

Is there something about eulogies, funerals, grief or remembering a loved one that you've always wondered about? Have I missed something that you'd like me to write about? Is there a question you've never felt comfortable asking? Or perhaps there's an aspect of writing a eulogy that you think deserves more attention.

If so, please leave a comment below, send me a message, or get in touch. Who knows, your suggestion might become the subject of blog number 101... or 199! I look forward to reading them. Thanks again. Take care.