If you need help writing eulogy speeches, you've come to the right place.

It is important to note that writing eulogy speeches can bring inspiration to the downtrodden, imagination to the skeptical, and purpose to the undetermined. They have a way of mimicking the pain, sorrow, joy, and gladness that make up our lives.

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Once you learn how to write speeches, eulogies, and other types of persuasive writing, you will find yourself feeling more confident in your writing ability. Try your hand at writing eulogies for some of the following topics (aside from people, since that is what we are so familiar with when we think of eulogies), and see where your writing takes you. Sometimes thinking outside the box and considering what we don't normally consider can be freeing and motivational for further writing.

Writing Eulogy Ideas:
1. Your writer's block (Where did it go? How did you lose it? Why was your writing so special to you and what would you give to have the luxury of writing back?)
2. Sanity (We've all lost it at one point or another. So write about what drove you to lose it and how you intend to get it back.)
3. Your favorite pen (We've all misplaced or used up all the ink in a favorite writing utensil. How did you feel when it happened? Write about the experience and let your emotions inspire your writing.)
4. Your childhood (Some people still live for their youth. They want it back so badly that they'll do anything to make it seem like they are young again. How do you still act like a child? What do you miss most about your childhood?)

Remember that all of these topics can be described in much more detail. The questions I asked should be your starting point for considering all the things that were important to you about the topic. From there, you should formulate just how to begin and continue your speech or eulogy writing.

Read on to find my example of a eulogy about my grandfather. I hope you can tell how much emotion and description I poured into this piece, as my grandfather was very important and special to me. I should note, however, that this piece did not begin as a eulogy, but rather as a memoir about someone who has shaped my life profusely. It is helpful to realize that different forms of writing can be viewed as different genres, depending on the writing situation presented.

My Zaidie's Influence

It truly is quite a conundrum to consider all the people who have shaped your life. I mean, how do you decide who deserves top billing? Not only have my family and friends shaped who I am today, but authors, artists, actors, and activities as well. Without all of these things, I would not be a whole person. I would be only a fraction of who I am today. People, events, places, and items have goaded the transformation to my becoming the person I have become. I am unique as a result of the path my life has taken.

My grandpa had a most influential role in my life. Even though he passed away when I was fifteen, I still marvel at his insight, knowledge, and overall demeanor. My grandpa was not a college-educated man. But the truth is that you would never have guessed that fact. Without a doubt, he was the brightest man I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The fact that he watched Jeopardy and knew all the answers before the contestants rang in was enough to prove this, but to make it even more obvious, my grandpa was instinctually smart about how to raise a family. He should have been. After all, he had to do it twice. You see, my mom and dad got divorced when I was only five years old. My parents still remain friendly to this day, and we always saw my dad often, but my mom’s parents moved in with us at that point. My Bubie and Zaidie, as I lovingly call them (those words mean grandma and grandpa in Yiddish), were kind of like our surrogate parents. My mom was working, and my Zaidie was still putting in some part-time hours at his job when they moved in. My Bubie, on the other hand, was always home with us, and they both picked us up from school. My Zaidie helped me with my homework. Sometimes my mom would get a bit upset with him because he was too anxious to help me complete each task. “Dad,” she’d say imploringly, “don’t give her all the answers. Do you want it to sound like an adult wrote it or a nine-year-old?” Even though I knew she was right, watching his face light up when he realized the correct answer and wanted to share it with me made me feel special and loved. He cared enough about me to help me understand why he gave the answer he gave. I wouldn’t have done as well in science or math had it not been for my Zaidie.

There are so many things to share about my Zaidie that will help you understand how important and special he was in my life. First off, not only was he handsome, but he was a tall man. Surprisingly so, since no one that has come in later generations shares this trait (we’re all 5’7” or less). He was about 6’1” at his tallest, before the years started to wear on him a bit, and he began to shrink. I loved looking up at him when I was a little kid, and even when I was older. It was great to hug him and feel my curls push up against his belly. Another unique thing about my Zaidie was that he had a naughty thumb. Up until I was about ten years old, that thumb was my main nemesis. It teased and taunted me, as it got closer and closer to my sides in an attempt to tickle me. My Zaidie would just wag his thumb at me and my brother and say, “here comes the naughty thumb!” Then he would start to tickle us and we would giggle and snicker, hoping all the while that the fun would continue for a while longer.

Whereas laughing and having fun with my Zaidie were my main sources of fun when I was still in my single digits (not that the fun stopped when I reached the double digits), Zaidie’s main hobby was photography. He loved taking pictures. We have almost no pictures of family events that he is in because of this fascination with that art form. He was always behind the camera, instructing us on how to pose, where to stand, and how many pictures he’d be taking before we were allowed to get back to whatever it was we were doing at the time. The timer on the camera was something that caught his interest. He started fooling around with the timer and trying to take pictures without holding the camera. One picture he took this way is a still portrait of himself that captures his right profile. It is hanging in my Bubie’s apartment, and I love looking at it and remembering how much he enjoyed this hobby of his.

My brother and I were always being taken to museums and exhibits by my Bubie and Zaidie. Henry Ford and Greenfield Village, the Children’s Museum in Detroit, the Hands-On Museum in Ann Arbor, and the Lionel train exhibits that were in town were always on their to-do list. We had fun. The educational aspect of the trips was not annoying or distracting as some kids would find it to be. Rather, this aspect was charming and made me realize just how much my grandparents truly loved us, since they wanted us to not only have fun, but learn something at the same time.

Every night, after a day fit for the memory books, my Zaidie would come and kiss me good-night. I’d hear the floor creak a bit outside my room, and the swiping of feet across the carpet. My head would be laid down on my pillow, and he would come in and kiss me good-night. It was always one of those wet kisses. He tried to make it as soft as he could, but I vividly remember that as soon as he would leave, I would grudgingly wipe it away. Grudgingly because I really loved the fact that my Zaidie loved me enough to come and kiss me every night before he went to bed himself. The fact that it was just a tad wet made the motion of my fingertips coming toward my face to clean it up even quicker. This anecdote, along with the fact that my Zaidie had a vocabulary all his own was what made him all that much more wonderful. Every time I bought new clothes, he would have to see me model them in my version of a fashion show. I’d run up to my room, change into the clothes, and come back downstairs to strut my stuff in front of him. There was never a time that he didn’t like something I had tried on. With every outfit he gave the same response, without fail. He would say, “Cute!” But he would say it a tad bit differently than the everyday pronunciation that you and I are familiar with. The “u” was pronounced as if it was two “o’s” together, as in the word “tooth”. So, if we were to try to spell my Zaidie’s version, it would look something like “coot”. I was his little princess, or so he called me. Nothing that I did upset him. He loved me unconditionally, and I’m sure he still does, as I love him the same way.

Just as my Zaidie loved me, he loved life. Family and friends were not all that was important to him. The fact is that he could have moved away to be closer to more of his family. Whereas my great-aunts and uncles live in a variety of places, one of which is Florida, my Zaidie was not one who wanted to leave his home state of Michigan. He was content living in a state that not only had attractions that he was interested in, sports teams that were well-known, and his grandchildren, of course; he was a sucker for the changing of the seasons. He liked the fact that the leaves changed color in autumn, that the sun shone brighter in the summer, that the grass smelled fresh come spring, and that the snow was a hassle, yet was manageable in the winter. Losing out on that aspect of his Michigan life was not something he was ready to lose. My Zaidie was happy with what he had, and was not ready to give it up.

These remembrances, or still portraits if you will, of the life that my Zaidie led plays an elaborate role in the construction of my attitudes, values, and beliefs. One attitude that I strive to maintain is to be ready and willing to help whenever someone needs it. My Zaidie proved that he was a helpful person who was willing to guide you on your path to success. Not only am I an example of this from when he helped me in grade school, but the fact that he took the initiative to help raise a “second” family is inspirational and motivational to me. Granted, my mother is his daughter, and my brother and I are his grandchildren, but the sacrifice of giving up his retirement years to move with my Bubie into our house to help take care of us shows dedication and love beyond anything I have ever known. I am also ethical, loyal, and respectful. I have learned these values from my Zaidie. Not only was he there for us when we needed him all those times growing up, but he taught me right from wrong, important from unimportant. He and my Bubie took us to museums to teach us about the history of our world, our country, our state, and our city. Our field trips symbolize the hope he had for us to grow up and become responsible, respectful, purposeful human beings with much to offer the world. And that is just how I see myself now. As someone who lets off the right attitude, believes in my core values, and doesn’t sacrifice my beliefs for anything. I am capable, responsible, and in control of what I want to do and how I want to do it. My Zaidie taught me that I am a compassionate, friendly, loving human being, and that showing all of these characteristics to your family and friends is just a steppingstone to engaging others in the task of seeing their worth, admiring their values, creating proper attitudes, and internalizing their beliefs.

When my Zaidie passed away it was about five or six in the morning on a Thursday. I will never forget that day. My mom came home around five a.m. and rushed me and my brother out of the house, into the car, and down to Beaumont Hospital. I was nervous and anxious in the car, not wanting to get out and go see him, because I knew that when I did, it would be real; he would be laying there, the life being sucked out of him. The man that I had known for fifteen years would be no more. He would be almost lifeless, yet my admiration and love for him would not be diminished. We took the elevator to the intensive care unit and my Bubie was in the room with him when we arrived. He had had a pacemaker installed previously, and the heart rate when the pacemaker is all that is running is about sixty beats per minute. His heart rate was a bit more than that, but was falling slowly but surely. My mom and Bubie are sure that he waited for me and my brother to arrive before he passed away. My Bubie told me that she had kept telling him we were on our way. When he did in fact pass away, I remember giving him a kiss on the cheek. I can’t remember if it was one of those wet ones that he used to give me, but I can tell you that that kiss was an encapsulation of all those attitudes, beliefs, and values that my Zaidie possessed, and which he taught me throughout our years together. My Zaidie was a true gentleman, a great human being, and a man who I cannot say with enough pride was a thoroughly positive and intense influence on my growth into the person I am today. I would not be me if it were not for him. For this, and so much more, I thank him.

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