Living Eulogies
Most eulogies are pieced together after someone has died, by people doing their best to remember. A living eulogy is different. You tell me about your life yourself, in your own words, and I write it down properly, so that when the day comes it’s your account they hear.
Telling me your story
You don’t have to perform, or be interesting, or have had a remarkable life. Nobody has had a remarkable life by their own reckoning. You tell me what you want to tell me, and we leave out whatever you’d rather leave out.
It doesn’t have to be sad. Most of these conversations aren’t, and we may laugh a great deal more than you’d expect.
You can also tell me who you’d like acknowledged, and what you’d want said to them. There are things most of us never quite get round to saying, and this is a chance to have them said properly, to the people they’re meant for.
If a long conversation is too much, we do it in shorter ones, at whatever pace suits you.
How it works
We meet. At home, in a hospice, in hospital, wherever you are and whenever you’re up to it. Your family can be in the room or leave us to it, whichever you’d prefer.
You talk, I take it down. Whatever you want to tell me. If you’d like to go further and think about music, readings, or whether you want faith or religion in any future service, we can do that too.
I write it. You can read it and approve it if you’d like to. And if you’d rather not, that’s fine. It’s written either way, and it’s there when it’s needed.
Afterwards, I come back. If you and your family would like me to lead your service when the time comes, we’ll talk it through together, and they can add their own memories of you. You tell me your life. They tell me what you meant to them. Both belong in a service.
Sometimes a hospice gets in touch on a resident's behalf, which is welcome. If you're a nurse or a chaplain reading this, you can ring me directly.
Why families ask for this
Because the stories are going to go with the person. Everyone knows it and nobody quite knows how to avoid it. There's always a plan to sit down and record the stories one weekend, but the weekend never comes.
Because writing a eulogy in the week after a death is hard. You're exhausted, you're organising a funeral, and you're trying to sum up a whole life while barely able to think straight. Knowing it's already done may well be a weight lifted.
Because of the dates and the details. Which ship he sailed on. The year they emigrated to Scotland. The origin of that thing she always said - what was that again? Families lose those permanently and often realise too late.
And because of what it does for the person while they're here. Being asked about your own life, by someone genuinely interested, is not a small thing. Many are never asked.