I Couldn’t Write My Mom’s Eulogy—So I Got Help

Hands of Time, Flowers of Grief
Time doesn’t ask.
It takes.
And yet—grief still blooms.
Even in decay, love lingers.
This is how memory holds us.

When my mom died, I didn’t know where to begin.

I was asked to write her eulogy.
And I couldn’t.

Not because I didn’t care.
Not because I wasn’t grieving.
But because the words just wouldn’t come.

I opened a blank page.
I stared.
I cried.
I panicked.
I closed it again.

There’s something no one tells you about grief:
It makes language feel impossible.
Especially when the relationship was… complicated.

She was my mother.
And she was also human.
Flawed. Fierce.
Tender in some ways, sharp in others.

I loved her.
I resented her.
I missed her before she even died.

And now I was expected to write something perfect? Something polished?
Something that would sum up our entire history in five minutes?

I couldn’t do it.

So I looked for help—and found it through Memento Mori Memorials.

They didn’t just “write a eulogy.”
They translated my silence.
They took the storm in my chest and shaped it into something I could read without breaking.
Something that honored her truth.
And mine.

They didn’t erase the complexity.
They held it gently—with poetry, dignity, and depth.

And when I stood up to speak at the funeral in Los Angeles,
it didn’t feel like performance.
It felt like closure.

I couldn’t write my mom’s eulogy.
So I got help.
And because of that…
I finally said goodbye.

If you’re in Los Angeles—or anywhere in the world—and you can’t find the words to say goodbye, you’re not alone. I offer private, poetic eulogy writing services to help you honor your loved one with beauty and truth.

🖤
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Or visit www.mementomorimemorials.com