Use four parts.

Identity anchor. Story clusters. Loss transition. Final image.

That is enough to begin.

Write one sentence under each heading before you try to write the whole eulogy. The point is not to make it perfect. The point is to give the page a shape, so the love has somewhere to speak from.

Structure is not the enemy of emotion.

When grief is raw, a blank page can feel impossible. A clear eulogy structure does not make the tribute cold or manufactured. It gives the love somewhere to land.

The room does not need to see the framework. It needs to feel the person.

Think in two jobs.

The celebrant leads the service. The eulogy brings the person back into the room. When those two jobs get blurred, people often reach for ceremony language and lose the human voice.

Start with one true memory. Then ask: what story sounds most like them? That is usually where the real tone returns. You do not need polished tribute language. You need something recognisable, speakable and true.

The celebrant may guide the service, but the eulogy asks a different set of questions: Who is holding the person, not just the program? What story proves their character? What would sound true in their voice? What must the room feel when this ends?

This study piece maps the thinking behind the article — memory, grief, language, family pressure, service deadlines, voice notes, old photographs, remembered phrases. The real work begins where polish stops and the person begins.

The celebrant leads the service. But the eulogy is often where families are left alone.

That is the part many people do not expect. The room is booked, the order of service is moving, the speaker is standing there — and yet the hardest part is still unwritten. Someone still has to find the words that sound like the person, not just the occasion.

This piece is for the families trying to do more than fill a slot in the program. It is for the ones trying to bring a real life back into the room.