Things have been quiet here for a while, but those rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated. Death has, however, been on my mind even more than usual since I was asked to deliver a eulogy.
It isn’t easy to write a eulogy.
They don’t give you much time. A few days at most before you have to drop your pen and stand and deliver.
Meanwhile, you’re in a state of shock, grief-stricken, haunted by dark thoughts. Far from ideal writing conditions.
So you cast about for something, anything, to get your pen moving. How about a quote? Everyone loves a quote, especially if it’s a pithy observation on the fragility of life. You search and discover that every human who’s ever lived has uttered at least two or three pithy observations on the fragility of life. Faced with the prospect of squandering the rest of your life sifting through piles of pithy observations on the fragility of life, you choose the first mildly appropriate quote. Finally, your eulogy is on its way. But where?
Staring at the nearly blank page, clock ticking, desperation mounting, you inevitably drift into the Survey. When was he born, where did he grow up, where did he go to school, what did he do for a living, what were his hobbies and favorite sports team, what are the names of his beautiful wife or wives and children and grandchildren, as applicable. Now you’re speeding along, words gushing out, this eulogy as easy as filling out a form.
Watch out, though: This just-the-facts-ma’am eulogy is just what you’d expect from someone who’s only pretending he knew the deceased. Is that you? If yes, shut up and sit down. The dead deserve better. If not, ask yourself why ministers, priests, rabbis and other presiding funeral professionals prefer the Survey. It’s the easy way out. No hard thought required. A quick skim over the surface. Is that how you want to approach this eulogy?
Imagine how stupid you’ll feel, walking up to the podium, your by-the-numbers eulogy clasped in your sweaty hand, wondering what you’ll say now that you’ve just heard the funeral professional cover the same territory in his by-the-numbers eulogy.
Also, do you think a funeral is the forum for a dull and lifeless eulogy? Your talking resume eulogy will just suck the what little life there is out of the room.
Your response: Let’s spice it up with some accomplishments! Sounds like a good idea – a eulogy should celebrate a life. And it might actually work if the deceased accomplished anything worth celebrating. But have you considered that, on the whole, people are pretty much average, with half of us falling below the mean? From the distance of a eulogy, most lives sound banal and pointless; many are downright depressing. Who needs more depression at a funeral? It’s one thing if you’re celebrating his Nobel prize, quite another if you’re celebrating his GED. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but is that really how you want us to remember the deceased? Is that what his life boils down to?
This is the point where many a eulogist veers into Superlativeland. Surveying the mundane details of his life, you realize he hasn’t given you much to work with. So you pump it up. He didn’t just find a wife, he was the Most Loving Husband Ever! He didn’t just succeed in procreating, he was Father of the Year! He didn’t just manage to maintain a friendship or two, he was the Best Friend a Guy Could Ever Hope to Know! He might’ve trudged to church for Christmas and Easter and the occasional wedding or funeral, but for some reason God just couldn’t wait any longer before summoning him up to heaven. God couldn’t bear the thought of another day up there without his divine company.
As a kid, I attended a lot of funerals. My grandparents’ parents believed in big families, so there was plenty of dying going on by the time I came along. Sitting through these funerals, listening to the eulogists drone on and on, I learned that every dead person was a saint. In other words, saints die but assholes must live forever. I wanted to live forever, so I became an asshole. That explains a lot, doesn’t it?
Anyways, by now your eulogy has been reduced to a bone dry chronology of a dull life spiced up with unbelievable lies. You’ve been reduced to celebrating the deceased’s life by celebrating someone else’s.
That’s good enough for most eulogists, but if you’re not most eulogists you’ll discard your misbegotten words and start over with something much more personal: Why will we miss him? If it’s from the heart, as it should be, the question will be answered with why you will miss him.
Now you’re on the right track. Describe his qualities, illustrate them with telling anecdotes from your personal experience with him. But don’t let it devolve into an “all about me” eulogy. Your personal experiences should illustrate the eulogy, not be the eulogy. Never lose sight of the deceased. Step aside, let him be the star. It’s his turn. You’ll get your turn when you die.
The humor issue cannot be avoided. It must be faced head-on. Can a eulogy be funny? The answer is no. There are funny ways to die, but there is nothing funny about death. I don’t say this out of respect for the deceased, I say it out of respect for those they’ve left behind. Don’t make light of their pain. They’re mourning a loss, not looking for entertainment.
Sure, a deft eulogist can spin an amusing anecdote or two, the sort that elicits knowing smiles instead of cringes and nervous laughter, but most of us aren’t deft. We’re not that funny either, at least intentionally, so chances are (1) the deceased did nothing funny, at least intentionally, (2) if the deceased did anything funny, he did it unintentionally, which usually means that it was at his expense and will just make him look bad, and (3) you’ll think your personal anecdotes are funny when they’re not. Especially when the church is packed with weeping mourners. Talk about a tough crowd.
A good eulogy is a short eulogy. Five to ten minutes should do it. So if you’ve made it this far in your eulogy, you should start thinking about ending it.
Like so much else in a eulogy, the ending isn’t easy. How does one sum up a life without diminishing it? You can’t, unless your deceased was a simpleton. And who wants to hear that?
Many eulogies end on a religious or philosophical note. Be very careful. Do you really know what the deceased believed, or are you just projecting your beliefs onto him? Is it appropriate to assure us he’s in heaven if he was an atheist? Or if you are an atheist? What if his wife is a Buddhist? Is this a good time to ignite a religious or philosophical debate? Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when we presume what others believe.
Avoid the preaching and the pontificating. Instead, remember why we’re here. He’s dead. We’ll never see him again. But he made an impression, he touched our lives, he lives on in our hearts. We were lucky to know him. We will miss him. Goodbye, old friend.
So, you see, it isn’t easy to write a eulogy. And the hardest part is, if you’ve done it right, your words will slice through you as you read them, your eyes will water, your throat will constrict until you can no longer resist the tears. Consumed by sorrow, no longer capable of reading or speaking, you’ll just stand there wracked with sobs as the audience looks up, no longer hearing your words but instead experiencing the depths of your pain, pain that is, after all, the most eloquent eulogy.
I'm sorry for the loss which was the occasion for the task. I've never written a eulogy, but I think I'd be better able to write one than to deliver the eulogy I'd written.
Posted by: MindSpin | December 16, 2006 at 02:21 PM