Funeral QuestionsMy daughter can't speak at her own daughter's funeral, so I'm writing the eulogy at 73 — how do I even start?
Asked by briarwood_esther ·
My granddaughter was six. She died last week after a short illness, and my daughter, her mum, has said plainly she cannot stand up in that church on Friday. She's not being dramatic, she genuinely cannot do it, and none of us think she should be pushed to.
So it's fallen to me. I'm 73, I've never given a eulogy for anyone, let alone a child, let alone my own grandchild. I keep starting sentences and deleting them because everything I write sounds like it's about a much older person: "she will be remembered for," "she lived a full life." None of it fits a six-year-old. I don't know how to talk about someone whose whole life fit into six short years without it sounding thin, or without it sounding like I'm searching for material that isn't there. There's plenty there. I just don't know how to shape it.
3 Replies
First, thank you for doing this. I mean that plainly, not as a nicety. What your daughter is asking of you is enormous, and the fact that you're already worrying about getting it right tells me you're going to do this well.
Here's the thing about a six-year-old's eulogy that I tell every grandparent, parent, or family friend who ends up in your exact seat: throw out every phrase that belongs to an adult eulogy. "Lived a full life," "will be remembered for her career/achievements/decades of," none of that has anywhere to attach itself, and trying to force it is what's making your sentences feel wrong as you write them. You're not writing a shorter version of an adult eulogy. You're writing a completely different kind of tribute.
What actually works for a child this age is small and specific. Not "she was full of joy," but what did she actually do that showed you that? The face she pulled when she didn't like dinner. The thing she called her favourite stuffed animal that wasn't its actual name. The way she ran, or didn't share a toy, or asked the same question nine times in a row because she liked the answer. Two or three of those, told plainly, will do more work than any abstract sentence about her spirit or her light. People in that church already loved her: they don't need to be told she was special, they need to be handed the specific, small things that made her her, so they can hold onto them.
For the "six short years" problem, say it plainly rather than working around it. Something like "six years isn't very long, and I'm not going to pretend it was" gives everyone permission to feel the unfairness of it without you having to manufacture a life that wasn't there. Then move straight into what those six years actually held. You don't need to smooth over how short it was. Naming it honestly is often the thing that lets a room breathe.
Keep it short. Three or four minutes is completely enough, more than enough, honestly. Nobody in that room is going to think less of you or of her for a brief, honest tribute. Longer isn't more loving here; specific is.
I'd add one thing to what's already been said: it's alright if you can't get through all of it without stopping. Nobody in that room is judging your composure. A grandmother pausing to breathe while talking about her six-year-old granddaughter is not a failure of the eulogy, it's the most honest possible response to the situation. Give a copy to the celebrant beforehand so there's no risk of the moment being lost if you do need to stop.
And for what it's worth, your daughter not being able to speak isn't her failing her own daughter. It's one of the clearest, most understandable limits grief can put on a person. What you're doing for her is exactly the kind of thing families are meant to do for each other at the worst possible time.
I did this for my grandson four years ago (he was four, cancer, quick once it was found). What I remember helping most was asking his kinder teacher and his two favourite cousins for one small memory each before I wrote anything. I didn't have enough of my own that felt "tellable" out loud, and their bits gave me the specific detail this thread's already talking about. You might have more than you think once you ask around, even in a week that short.
It gets easier once you've written the first true sentence. The blank page is the worst part.
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