Eulogy for a Brother: 7 Examples to Copy

Good morning. I'm Paul, Steve's younger brother.

Steve taught me to ride a bike, throw a curveball and talk my way out of trouble, mostly trouble he had gotten us into. He was my first hero and my first best friend.

As grown men we lived three states apart, but every Sunday night for twenty years, he called. Same time, same opening line: "So, what's the damage?"

Steve, there is no damage I can't handle, because you taught me how. I'll miss Sunday nights. Thank you for every one of them.

Hi, everyone. I'm Emily, and David was my big brother.

When I was little, David was my bodyguard. Nobody on our street bothered me, because everybody knew they would have to deal with him. When I was a teenager, he was the one who stayed up to make sure I got home, and then pretended he had just happened to be awake.

When I got married, he walked me down the aisle because Dad was already gone. He whispered the whole way: "You can still run. I'll cover you." I laughed so hard I nearly tripped.

David, you have been looking out for me my whole life. I'm going to try to look out for your kids the way you looked out for me. I love you.

Good afternoon. My name is Matt. Joe was the oldest of us four, and he took that job very seriously.

He was the one who checked the locks, kept the peace and carried the grocery bags. When our parents got older, he was the one who drove them to every appointment, never complained, and always called the rest of us afterward with the full report.

He was a carpenter, and you can see his work all over this town: porches, staircases, a church altar. He said a job was not finished until you would be proud to show it to your grandfather.

Joe, you built a lot of things in your life, and the best of them was this family. We'll take care of it now.

Hi. I'm Nicole, and Ryan was my baby brother. He was six years younger than me, and I have been looking after him since the day my parents brought him home.

Ryan was the funny one. He could make anyone laugh, including teachers who were trying very hard to be angry with him. He was also the kindest person in our family, the one who noticed when someone was sitting alone and went to sit with them.

I always thought I would be the one to go first. That is the order things are supposed to happen in. It did not, and I am still trying to understand that.

Ryan, I spent your whole life looking after you. I don't know how to stop. So I'm just going to keep loving you instead.

Good morning. I'm Tony, the second of three brothers, and Mike would want me to point out that he was the better-looking one. He told everyone. Constantly.

Mike never lost an argument in his life, mostly because he never admitted to losing one. He once argued with a GPS for forty-five minutes and drove into a lake. Small lake. Everyone was fine. He blamed the lake.

He cooked enormous Sunday dinners that took six hours and every pan in the house, and then made the rest of us wash up. Nobody ever complained, because the food was that good.

And when life got hard, for any of us, Mike was the first one at the door, usually with a tray of lasagna and a terrible joke.

Mike, you win this one. You were the better-looking one. Don't let it go to your head.

Thank you all for being here. I'm Sarah, Chris's sister.

None of us expected to be here. Last Sunday, Chris was at our parents' house, laughing at the kitchen table and stealing food off everyone's plate, the way he has since he was five. There was no warning, and there is no good way to say goodbye to someone when you did not know it was goodbye.

So I want to tell you about that last Sunday, because it was a perfectly ordinary day, and Chris was at his best on ordinary days. He fixed Mom's garage door. He played catch with his nephews in the yard. He hugged everyone on his way out.

If you have a brother, a sister, anyone, call them this week. Chris always did.

Chris, thank you for the last Sunday. I'm so glad it was an ordinary one.

Good morning. I'm Daniel, Tom's twin brother.

For four years, Tom fought harder than anyone I have ever seen. He went to every treatment with a joke for the nurses. He went to his daughter's graduation on a day when he could barely stand, because he had promised her he would be there.

He never asked why him. He told me once that he would rather it was him than any of us, and he meant it.

In the last weeks, we talked more than we had in years. About our parents, about growing up, about nothing at all. Those conversations are a gift I will carry for the rest of my life.

Tom, you're done fighting. Rest now. I'll keep your promises for you.