Living Eulogies
Consider what so often happens at a funeral. Mourners arrive, and some have explicitly prepared to speak about what they loved most about the person who died. Everyone shows up with their own memories in tow - what they will miss about the person who died, what they are so sad to now have to live without. These moments prompt us to consider, really consider, the small, nuanced ways that the person who died lived their life. Were they fun and generous dinner guests? Were they amazing huggers? Maybe they had the best comedic timing and told dirtiest of jokes? These small things culminate into being the essence of the person who died, and all of that energy is felt in the room, when we collectively remember the person we love.
How many times have we had this experience, and paired with it is the thought “if only I could tell them.” “If only I could have them over for dinner again, get another hug, hear another joke.” That pang in your stomach when you are reconciling that desire to connect with the reality of their death.
So here is a thought - what if we didn’t wait until someone died to talk about those little things? It takes vulnerability, and honesty, and a bit of guts. But it’s doable.
About year ago, I started doing what I call “living eulogies.” I don’t do it all the time, though I wish I did (see above for what it takes re: vulnerability, honesty, and guts. We can’t embrace those things all the time). But when I can, I do. And here’s what it looks like: I send a voice note to someone on their birthday. It’s maybe two minutes long, maybe longer depending on how verbose I’m feeling that day. I let them know that this voice note is their living eulogy - a chance to tell them how much I love them. And then I begin!
Once I get going, it just flows. Because as it turns out, when you really give yourself a chance to consider why you love someone, it is not that hard to list countless reasons that could never be contained within a short voice note. I have a friend whose confidence I adore, another who just makes me feel at home. Another friend is always down to talk about anything, and when she listens, I can feel her listening to me and clamoring to understand. Sometimes it’s memories, sometimes it’s hopes for the future. I go where my heart and mind take me.
And once I send it, it’s out of my hands. This is where the vulnerability comes in. Maybe they don’t save the note, or they never listen to it again, or they roll their eyes at their effusive therapist friend. But I can assure you that I have never had someone outwardly react poorly to this. More often than not the responses I get are some variation of thank you, I love you, weeping-plus-heart emoji.
After sending these eulogies, I feel a sense of peace and contentment that comes from being sure that someone I love JUST heard about how much I love them. Will you try doing this? Let’s bring into the world of the living more moments of vulnerability, expression, and connection.
