How to Deliver a Eulogy with Confidence

Someone asked you to speak at the funeral. Maybe you said yes before you fully understood what that would feel like. Maybe you're the kind of person who always says yes when someone needs something. Either way, you're here now, and the service is coming.

This is not a guide for professional speakers. It's for the rest of us — people who are grieving, who may never have spoken in front of a crowd before, and who are doing this because they loved someone. That already makes you the right person for the job.

You Don't Have to Be Good At This

The first thing to understand is that no one in that room expects a polished performance. They expect someone who loved this person to stand up and say so. That's the whole job.

The people listening are not there to judge your delivery. They're grieving too. When you stand up, they're with you. Most of them are quietly relieved that someone else is doing the speaking. Your job is not to be impressive — it's to be present.

Prepare More Than You Think You Need To

The single most important thing you can do before the day is read your eulogy out loud, to yourself, at least five times. Not in your head — out loud, standing up, at the pace you'll actually speak.

This does several things. It shows you where the hard sentences are — the ones that will trip you up emotionally or physically. It tells you how long it actually takes to deliver. And it starts to make the words feel like yours rather than something you wrote.

If possible, read it out loud to one other person before the service. A partner, a sibling, a friend. You don't need feedback. You just need to have said these words in front of another human being at least once before the day.

Print your eulogy in a font size large enough to read easily — 14pt or bigger. Double-space the lines. Bring two printed copies. Put them in separate places. Funerals are already stressful enough without having to search for a piece of paper.

On the Day: Practical Things That Help

Arrive early. Get a sense of the space — where you'll stand, where you'll look, how your voice sounds in the room. If there's a microphone, do a brief sound check so you're not surprised by it.

Drink water before you speak. Not too much, but enough. A dry mouth makes everything harder.

When it's your turn, walk to the front without rushing. Take a breath before you start speaking. That pause feels much longer to you than it does to the audience. It actually settles the room.

Speak more slowly than feels natural. When we're nervous, we speed up. If it feels like you're going too slowly, you're probably at the right pace.

Look up from the page occasionally — at the coffin, at a familiar face, at the middle distance. You don't need to maintain eye contact with anyone. But looking up now and then keeps you connected to the room.

What to Do If You Start to Cry

You will probably get emotional. That is not a problem. That is the point.

If you feel tears coming, pause. Take a breath. Look up from your paper — not at anyone in particular, just up. This actually helps more than anything. Most people find that looking down makes it harder to hold it together.

If you need to stop completely for a moment, stop. The room will wait for you. No one is going anywhere. Take your time.

If you genuinely cannot continue, it is completely acceptable to hand your paper to someone nearby and ask them to finish reading. This is not failure. This is being human at a funeral.

Some people find it helpful to remember that the tears are not about you — they're about the person you're describing. Grief is love with nowhere to go. Let it be what it is.

It's Okay If It's Not Perfect

You might lose your place. You might say something slightly differently than you planned. You might stumble over a word. None of this matters.

What the audience will remember is not whether you were a polished speaker. They will remember that you stood up. That you cared enough to do this. That you gave them something to hold onto — a memory, a moment, a way of understanding who this person was.

The imperfect delivery of a real, heartfelt eulogy is worth ten times the smooth performance of something generic. The tremor in your voice when you get to the hard part is not a flaw. It tells everyone in the room that this person mattered to you. That's the whole message.

One Last Thing

After the service, people will come up to you and tell you that it was beautiful. Some of them will cry when they thank you. Some of them will say they didn't know that story, or that you captured exactly who this person was.

You will probably not believe them in the moment. You'll be running back through all the moments you stumbled, all the places where you didn't say it quite right.

Believe them anyway.

You did something hard on a hard day, for someone you loved. That's enough. That's more than enough.