What to Include in a Eulogy: 7 Touching Elements for a Truly Heartfelt Farewell
What to Include in a Eulogy?
Warm welcome & thanks – Begin by greeting everyone and thanking them for coming to honor the person’s life.
Who they were to you – State the loved one’s name and your relationship to them so listeners know the voice they’re hearing.
Brief life sketch – Offer a short overview of their journey: birthplace, family, work, passions, milestones—just enough to set the scene.
Memories that show their spirit – Share two or three specific stories or traits that capture their personality, values, and quirks.
How they touched others – Describe the difference they made: lessons taught, kindness shown, laughter sparked.
Words of comfort & unity – Acknowledge the shared sorrow, remind everyone of the lasting imprint they leave, and invite gentle reflection.
Uplifting farewell – Close with gratitude for their life and a simple goodbye or blessing that lets people feel hopeful as they leave.
Example Eulogy
(Time: ~4.5 minutes at a calm speaking pace)
Good afternoon, everyone, and thank you for being here today. Seeing this room filled with faces Maria loved—family, neighbors, friends from the market, and even Fiona the mail carrier reminds us how wide her circle of care truly was. Your presence is a gift to her memory and to each of us as we learn to live with the space she leaves behind.
My name is Luis, Maria’s nephew, though she always joked that “nephew” was too small a word for the bond we shared. Maria was born in 1947 in a sun‑washed village outside Valencia. She learned early how to mix hard work with joy: mornings helping her mother bake bread, afternoons racing her brothers down dusty lanes, evenings reading borrowed novels by lamplight. At 20, she moved to the city, rolled up her sleeves, and spent the next four decades nourishing half the province with the simplest, heartiest stews you could imagine. First in the little café she started with Uncle Andrés, and later from the kitchen of every community festival that would have her.
If you tasted Maria’s cooking, you probably noticed two things: it always arrived with a generous ladle of sauce, and she never let you leave hungry or sad. I remember one thunderous night when I was ten, frightened by the storm. Maria wrapped me in a blanket that smelled of basil and woodsmoke, sat me on the counter, and stirred a pot while telling stories of saints who calmed the seas. I stopped shaking long before the clouds cleared, because her voice was steadier than the thunder.
Her steadiness showed up in small, bright moments, too. Olga, her next‑door neighbor, told me yesterday how Maria slipped homemade orange marmalade through her door the morning Olga’s mother fell ill—no note, just the sweet jar and a smile through the crack. And there was the time, three summers ago, when the village’s only bus broke down during harvest. Maria commandeered her old blue van—still smelling of garlic—and drove workers to the fields at dawn, singing rancheras out the window as if it were the easiest favor in the world.
What made Maria special wasn’t simply that she helped. It was how she made help feel like friendship, never charity. She believed every person should leave a room warmer than they found it, and she practiced that belief with each bowl she filled, each story she shared, and each hand she held a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Today our hearts are heavy. Yet even in sorrow we can feel the warmth she left behind: in the recipes we carry, in the songs we can’t hear without picturing her tapping the countertop, in the quiet habit of checking whether the person beside us needs one more spoonful. Maria’s kindness is now ours to pass on.
So, let us say goodbye the way she might have liked—simply and sincerely. Maria, thank you for teaching us that love can be as humble as a loaf of bread and as brave as a midnight drive through rain. We will miss your laughter echoing down the hallway, your apron dusted with flour, your stories that tasted of sunshine. But we will keep serving one another, a little more generously, because you showed us how.
Rest gently, dear Maria. We are grateful for every flavor of life you shared with us. Go in peace, and know that your table will always be full in our hearts.