How to Write a Eulogy for Your Child

There is no script for losing a child. This guide is here only if it helps, with gentle prompts, suggestions, and clear permission to have someone else speak on your behalf, or to have no eulogy at all. Anything you say will be enough. Nothing will be enough. Both are true.

Writing a eulogy for your child

There is no script for this. No order of words can carry what you are carrying. Whatever you say, or whatever someone says for you, will be enough, and nothing will be enough. Both of those things are true at the same time, and they will stay true.

You may not be able to speak on the day. That is allowed. Many bereaved parents do not deliver the eulogy themselves. Many parents do not have a eulogy at all. None of these choices is a failure of love. The love is not measured by what is said in the room. It is measured by the room being there in the first place, and by the people who came because of who they were.

If you do choose to write something (for yourself, or for someone else to read on your behalf) it does not have to be long. It does not have to be complete. It does not have to do justice to them, because nothing can. It only has to be a few things that are true, in your voice, said in whatever order they come.

What you might choose to share

You do not have to include anything in particular. What follows is offered as permission, not prescription. A eulogy for a child can be a single image of who they were (at a particular age, on a particular afternoon, doing a particular thing) and nothing else. That can be the whole of it. That can be enough.

If it helps to begin somewhere, you might write about one or two small specific things: what they loved, what they were learning, what they found funny, how they were when they were completely themselves. Their hands. Their laugh. The way they stood in a doorway. The small details are usually what make a eulogy sound like them, rather than like a summary of them.

There is no required length. No required shape. No tone you have to land on. Some parents read three sentences. Some read three paragraphs. Some read nothing and ask a friend to read for them. Anything you choose is the right choice.

Gentle memory prompts, only if they help

Offered as gentle starting points, not as a list to complete. Use any that help. Ignore any that do not. If none of them help, that is also fine.

A small ordinary moment you would give anything to repeat.
Their laugh, try to describe the sound, not just say they laughed.
Something only you know about them.
What they were like at a particular age that felt definitive.
Their handwriting, their drawings, their things.
Who they were becoming.
Something they said you carry now.
A photo you keep coming back to, what is in it.
Their friendships, a name, a habit, a place they belonged to.
The way they were when they were completely themselves.

If you choose to read something

There is no required structure. These are suggestions only. If standing up at all feels impossible, do not. Have someone else read what you have written, or have no eulogy at all. None of these choices is wrong.

You might begin with a single image of them, at a particular age, doing a particular thing, in a particular light. That can be the whole opening, or the whole eulogy.
You might gather two or three small specific moments rather than try to write a life. Two or three is enough. One is enough.
You might write to them rather than about them, if that feels easier. Eulogies can hold either.
Keep it short. One to two minutes is plenty. The room is not waiting for length; the room is holding its breath with you.
Use short sentences. Long ones will not survive your voice on the day, and they do not need to.
Print it large (sixteen point or bigger, double-spaced) so you can find your place if you have to look up.
Have a back-up reader designated and ready, and tell them in advance. Knowing someone else can finish is often what makes it possible to begin.

If reading is too much

Many bereaved parents choose not to deliver the eulogy themselves. Cherished Book's AI can generate a respectful first draft from a few questions, which a family friend or close relative can read on your behalf, or you can have no eulogy at all. There is no failure in any of these choices. Other parents find the idea of any AI involvement unwelcome, and that is equally understandable. You may not want to use it at all. None of this is required of you.

If you do stand up

Only if. None of this is required. If you choose to read, these are gentle things that may help on the day.

Have a back-up reader designated and standing close by, and make sure it is not a sibling of theirs. A close family friend, an aunt or uncle, or a grandparent is the right person.
Keep it short. One to two minutes is plenty. There is no expectation of length, and no one is waiting for more.
Do not apologise for breaking down. There is nothing to apologise for. The room knows. The room is with you.
Take pauses. Long ones if you need them. Silence in this room is not awkward; it is the room breathing with you.
Look at the page or look at one person who loves you. You do not have to look at the whole room.
You can stop at any point. You do not have to finish the page. Stopping is not failure; it is simply the end of what you could give that day.

Last reviewed June 2026.

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