These are two genuine eulogies written shared with us by Frances and Athelie. At the end you’ll find a link to a third example. We hope that these sample eulogies for a brother will help you when it is time to write one of your own.
But first, a beautiful quote about a brother recently written for us by one of our readers. It would make a lovely opening for a eulogy.
Whenever I think about my brother, I remember his bright smile. He had one for everybody he met along the way. I cry and cry, knowing that I will never be able to see that smile again. But as I look back and remember the life that he had, I know he is smiling down at us with the brightest smile that he can give, knowing we remember him.
The pain of his death is not something that can go away with just sincere condolences or a bunch of flowers. What makes it bearable is knowing that we are gathered here today because of the wonderful memories he left us. You all came here and shared hours of your day because he was a loving son, a supportive brother, a loyal husband, a good father, and an amazing friend. He left us a part of him that neither time nor even his death can ever take away.
As the eldest of five children, my brother was the glue that held the family together when responsibilities and adulthood shipped us off in different directions. He had the leadership of an eldest, the strength of a middle child and the warmth of a pretend youngest. He would constantly call ahead of time to remind us about a coming celebration or holiday often taken for granted when life hits hard. Birthdays would excite him, and it was always his yearly challenge to be the first one to greet you when the clock struck 12. He appreciated every effort exerted and would exclaim “Perfect!” on a basic omelet you’d made for him. On his birthday, he would beam in happiness over a simple card with a small message or just a plain shirt making him feel that he had crossed your mind. He used to call out of nowhere to remind us about random things and moments as if he was scared that we would forget about it, or maybe because he felt that we might forget him if he failed to call regularly.
When I expressed my dream of becoming a lawyer, he dreamt with me. He was loud and proud when I started my journey. Together with the whole family, he was with me every step of the way. On an examination day in law school, he would make an excuse to travel three hours away from home to my boarding house, and he would bring me my favorite roasted chicken because he knew that I would be busy with my revision and would most likely starve myself. He was excited for my Bar review even years before I graduated. He planned to be with me during the start of my Bar exam preparation to become my solo support system.
Losing him is like losing my wings. Flying is close to impossible because the pain has crippled me. What keeps me going is that I would be wasting our dream if I stopped flying because I have lost him. He would want me to continue chasing my dreams bravely if he was here.
I saw how he loved his wife on days when you could never separate them. He would sweetly go wherever his wife went. As a father, he showered his kids with attention and care through constant communication. He supported their dreams and made sure each of his three kids felt valued and seen. Now I understand why. Something in him was probably telling him to live as if every day was his last.
To all of us who knew him, he was always there for us. One call of his name, and he would be with you in a heartbeat. One mention that you were in need, and he would give even his last penny. In this ever-changing world, he was our constant. His death will never change that fact.
He was not a saint, but he was the home that we could always return to because we knew that he would welcome us with arms wide open. We can all picture him with his signature smile telling us that he had got our backs.
He used to be everywhere around us, and suddenly, he is now gone forever. He has left an unbearable void.
As I look into the crowd of people mourning for him, I find comfort in knowing that all of you love my brother. I find peace in knowing that he touched your life and that you also touched his heart at some point in his life. I find happiness in knowing that he will live on in all of your memories. He may not have lived a perfect life, but he lived a good one. One that we will forever cherish and we will continue to remember.
I know my brother would hate to see us crying for him. He would want us to cling to the beautiful memories and forgive ourselves for whatever regrets we have. He would like us to be strong through the darkest days ahead. That is what he always does – he gives light and strength when it seems impossible to go on.
I can never deny the pain that I carry, but I would like us to remember him as a blessing and a lesson. I want to treasure the life he shared with us over the pain that his death has brought us.
Rest in eternal peace dear brother. You will live on forever in our hearts.
Our childhood was my doll’s house where you weren’t supposed to enter, but always did. It was the big tree in the front yard that you helped me climb up, but not down.
We walked to the shops to buy Wicks chewing gum. You held my hand when we crossed the street.
We played and fought and drove Mom to distraction. We accused each other of being her favorite.
You teased, I whined.
We were big brother and little sister.
Our teens were hard times, filled with anger and depression. We drifted apart then and yet you comforted me when Smokey the Cat died, and I held your hand at David’s funeral.
We were big brother and little sister.
We married our respective great loves. And then lost them.
You and Geraldine separated; Earl died.
You came to live with me for a while – I don’t remember for how long. Three weeks? A year? I don’t even remember if we talked about our sorrow. We were just there, together, big brother and little sister.
And then, wonderfully, in our forties we grew close again. We went to lunches, brunches, and every exhibition within a 100-mile radius. I went with you to football games and whined constantly. You came with me to the opera and always fell asleep.
And talk. We are talkers, you and I: politics and religion, books and those damn banks. Hours and hours of talking and listening and learning from each other.
Big brother and little sister.
And now I want to call you and tell you about how badly behaved The Dogs are today. I want to hear you lecture me about how it’s my fault and I must train them, not spoil them.
I want you to call me and say, “Switch on the TV, listen to what the idiot president is saying now,” and then hear you laugh like a crazy person.
I need your advice about the dent in my car.
When my jaw stops aching, and my throat opens, and I can see properly again, I’ll go to Luigi’s. I’ll sit at that table on the pavement in the shade. I’ll order a glass of dry white wine, with ice on the side, and I’ll say goodbye.
But not yet, my big brother, not yet.
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