by Dana Wineland O’Rourke, contributing writer
I selected a large, easy-to-read font, numbered the pages, and tucked them in a black folder that I held tightly while walking up the church steps. The elderly pastor, known for his wisdom and compassion, greeted us as we entered the vestibule. He looked at me, then at my folder, and asked, “Are you the one doing the eulogy?” I nodded.
“Keep it short,” he said, giving my hand an empathetic squeeze. “People tend to get bored.” His words stung, and I lowered my eyes without saying anything.
My husband and I found seats, and I placed the folder containing the eulogy I had written between us. The pastor’s well-meaning suggestion to keep it short was difficult to grasp. He had presided over hundreds of funerals and heard countless eulogies; surely, he knew best.
However, the only thing I was certain about the word “short” at that moment was that my friend’s life had been cut short by cancer. She was fifty years old, as was I. We were there to bid her final farewell. I had never given a eulogy and had no idea how short he meant.
What I did know with all my heart was that her family trusted me to commemorate her life, and every word I typed through tears felt important. I practiced reading it aloud at home several times, counted the words, and used a stopwatch. It took nine minutes at an appropriate pace. Nine minutes to honor one of the most beautiful people to grace the Earth: my dear friend Karen.
I felt torn between the pastor’s request to “keep it short” and my desire to honor my friend. It had been hard enough to limit the eulogy to what I felt was both suitable and special. Despite my natural propensity to follow guidelines, especially a pastor’s, Karen deserved more. There would be no last-minute editing.
The church was silent as I made my way up the aisle, pausing briefly to place my hand on her casket. When I reached the pulpit, I took a deep breath, removed the papers from my folder, and saw that the church was packed – a testament to how well-loved Karen was. I immediately focused on her loved ones in the front rows: her parents, siblings, husband, and children. I hoped my words highlighted her legacy and lightened their heavy hearts.
“This is for you, Karen,” I thought, then began to speak.
Ten minutes later – a mere twelve seconds for each of Karen’s fifty years – her husband took my hand and smiled. Her family was pleased, and that was what mattered most.
“You did good,” my husband mouthed as I walked toward our pew.
I whispered in his ear, “That was one of the most important things I’ve ever done.”
It is a privilege to speak about someone you love. I had the distinction of presenting my maternal grandmother’s eulogy with input from family members. She lived to celebrate her 100th birthday, and hers was quite a tale to tell.
Unfortunately, more goodbyes have occurred, and I’ve delivered the eulogies of two additional treasured friends. A suggestion of three to five minutes was conveyed, and I obliged with the maximum time allotted, sure to say everything essential and give each special woman a proper tribute.
Over the years, I’ve listened more intently when people speak at a memorial, knowing how difficult it is to keep your composure while expressing your thoughts on a dear one who has died. I’ve heard wonderful reflections, pure heartbreak, and silly stories. No matter how long they spoke, I was never bored.
When my Uncle Bud passed away, his eldest son John presented a heartfelt eulogy, and his ten-year-old granddaughter Emma read sweet words from her iPad. The minister asked if anyone else wished to speak, and a small hand went up in the front row. Uncle Bud’s six-year-old grandson Jay stood and faced the congregation.
“Pap was a good pap,” the shy boy proclaimed, bringing smiles to everyone present.
It was short, memorable, and the most perfect eulogy I ever had the privilege to witness.
Speak when you have the chance.
To quote James Earl Jones, “One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can’t utter.”
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About the author: Freelance writer Dana Wineland O’Rourke retired after wearing the many hats required for her position as a school secretary for 30 years. A lifelong resident of Monongahela, Dana has been married to Tim for 46 years. Their two sons and daughters-in-law made the family an even dozen with six grandchildren. She enjoys spending time with family, traveling, gab & grubs with friends, biking, and fitness classes at the YMCA.
