Here is an example eulogy for a mother., delivered by her son You can use it as a template to write a eulogy for your mother, should you need example text to adapt and work from.
How to adapt this eulogy for your own use
This eulogy is a fictional example written in tribute to a beloved mother. You may wish to use the tone, structure, and themes—such as independence, generosity, humour, and legacy—as inspiration for your own personal tribute. Replace names, anecdotes, and details with those that reflect your own mother’s life and character.
Eulogy for a Mother
By Terry Davidson
Good morning, everyone. I’m Terry Davidson, and I have the great honor of sharing a few words about my mother, Eunice Davidson. It’s humbling to try to capture the essence of someone so meaningful, especially when that person is your own mother. A son sees his mother through a deeply personal lens—one shaped by countless everyday moments that often go unnoticed by the outside world. I can’t claim to speak for all of us who loved her—my siblings, extended family, or her many friends—but I hope to reflect at least a little of the admiration, respect, and deep affection we all feel.
My mother would have been so moved to see this room filled with familiar faces—people she knew, cared about, and quietly championed in her own ways. For her, relationships were everything. In her last weeks, it was your visits, your messages, and your steady kindness that brought her peace and reminded her just how loved she truly was.
We’ve heard from many people since her passing—letters, emails, phone calls—all filled with stories of how Eunice offered a helping hand, a listening ear, or a burst of encouragement when someone needed it most. The qualities that keep surfacing are strength, warmth, humour, clarity, honesty, and an unwavering sense of purpose. She was not just a person who lived life—she grabbed it with both hands and made it something vivid and unforgettable.
One of the things I admired most about my mom was her fierce independence. After my father passed, she chose to move out to a quiet, rural property—not because she wanted to be alone, but because she loved solitude and nature on her own terms. I remember her telling me, “I’ve earned my peace, and I’m going to enjoy it.” She raised us as a single parent while also going back to school and later starting a second career—something that took a mix of grit, intellect, and just the right amount of defiance.
And then there was her generosity. She gave freely of her time, her knowledge, and often, her possessions. One spring, she met a young man who was studying wetland birds for his PhD. Without blinking, she handed over her binoculars and her best field guide. “You’ll use them more than I do right now,” she said. Of course, they were technically my brother’s binoculars. But that was Mom—giving first, and sorting the details later.
She was a person of strong values. Her integrity was the kind that makes you sit up straighter in your own life. When I found myself facing difficult decisions, I often asked myself, “Would I be proud to tell Mom about this?” That question still serves me. Her example taught us to speak up, stand firm, and live with honesty—even when it wasn’t easy.
And in her final weeks, her dignity was something profound. Even in pain, she made thoughtful decisions about her care. She wanted clarity of mind so she could enjoy her conversations and remain truly present. She didn’t want to be remembered as someone diminished—she wanted to be remembered as herself. And that’s exactly how we’ll remember her: clear-eyed, thoughtful, and filled with quiet courage.
Mom also had a light side that was irresistible. She had a mischievous laugh and a talent for storytelling. At nearly 70, she took up paddleboarding—mainly because someone dared her to. She believed in elves. She kept a gnome in her garden and told all the neighborhood kids it came alive at night. And when she redecorated her kitchen in sunny yellow and bright teal, she said, “It’s like living inside a lemon tart, and that’s exactly what I wanted.”
In her final year, she poured her energy into renovating a small cottage she had always dreamed of retiring to. She moved in just nine days before she passed. But she got there. She sat on the porch. She watched the birds. She made it home. For that, we are so deeply grateful—to all who helped make it happen, from the builders to the family and friends who cleaned, packed, and lifted boxes with love.
She was a quiet historian of our family, always piecing together old letters, stories, and photographs. She believed that knowing where you come from gives you strength. And thanks to her, we have that strength. We carry it forward.
This past year has brought its share of loss—my uncle Raymond, her cousin Linda, and now, my mother. Each of them lived with a kind of grace and decency that seems rarer with each passing year. We honour them by living our lives with that same grace.
As a mother, Eunice had an incredible ability to make us feel seen—truly seen—for who we were. She encouraged our weirdness, our ambition, and our independence. She didn’t push us to be anything other than fully ourselves, and that’s a gift I’ll never take for granted.
She will be with us always—in the stories we tell, in the choices we make, and in the ways we choose to care for others. I will always be proud, deeply proud, to be the son of Eunice Davidson.