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Sample tribute speech

A sample tribute speech

- a speech in memory of my mother, Iris

Here's a sample tribute speech. It's for my mother, Iris, and yes, it's all true.

If you're writing a tribute speech of your own, you'll find the outline, or template, my speech follows directly below it along with other helpful links on the writing process, and to funeral poems and quotations you may like to use.

When said aloud this speech is approximately between 7 to 9 minutes long, depending on how quickly you speak.

A tribute speech for my mother: Iris

My Mother shares her name, Iris, with the goddess of the rainbow; a messenger for the ancient Olympian gods and carrier of faith, hope and wisdom.

But that's not why her parent's called her that. Instead, it was something much closer to home.

After her birth my grandmother saw a patch of beautiful dark purple flowers out her bedroom window. They were iris. She was named for them.

Image: purple iris flowers. Text: Iris: goddess of the rainbow, messenger of the gods.

Iris, the last of five children, arrived during the Depression Years.

When she was two years old her father suddenly died, and her family rapidly fell into hard times. Her brothers and sisters were sent out to work as soon as they were old enough. There was no government monetary assistance for widows in those days.

On eve of World War Two Iris left school to work too. She was a tall, skinny, nervous thirteen-year-old who, as she said; knew nothing about anything worth knowing.

Soon being a shop girl behind the Woolworth's pick-and-mix confectionary counter was no longer enough. She wanted more. That hunger drove her to night school: a secretarial course, and speech lessons to learn "to talk proper".

Nothing, not even God, was exempt from her desire to break free of limitations imposed by circumstance. Her staunch Catholic upbringing was questioned. The family fall-out from her decision to abandon it was legendary.

My Great-Grandmother locked her in her room for several days. Prayers were said and priests brought to the door.

However, all the threats of hellfire and eternal damnation were powerless. Finally, her family relented, the door was opened and she was reluctantly set free.

By the time World War Two ended Iris had become a competent personal secretary who thoroughly enjoyed life.

In 1947 she met my father. It was "love at first sight" and they married six weeks later.

Now, let's fast forward eighteen years.

Iris and Graham had five children. I am the eldest and the youngest was two when, in a curious repetition of family history, my father suddenly died. This time, in this generation, there was a widow's benefit and although meager, my mother was grateful to have it.

Shocking events are tattooed into memories, remaining vivid despite the wear of passing years.

From her chaotic struggle to find a sense of place and purpose without my father, to effectively parent five children on her own, to balance their growing financial demands against a small, fixed income and more, flow a stream of images. Each one shows an aspect of Iris I respect and admire.

From my gallery:

The God Books.

This is what we called them as children. They were philosophical discussions on varying world religions and often baptized in the bath. At the end of the day that was where she read and invariably, she nodded off. Sodden books, face down, their leaves splayed out to dry in the sun were a common sight.

Flowers.

No matter how fraught she was there were always fresh flowers on the dining room table: a bowl of velvet pansies, red roses; whatever was in season from her garden. They were, to use her expression, a hyacinth for the soul. She understood 'Man cannot live by bread alone.' Beauty was essential.

Money Jars.

In the high cupboard above the kitchen bench were a series of labelled glass jars. "Food", "Electricity", "Phone", and so on. Every time her widow's benefit was paid out each jar got its portion.

Midnight Nursing.

My youngest brother and sister suffered from chronic bronchitis. Many nights I woke to find her cradling one, and sometimes both. She'd be wrapped in her old blue dressing gown, her long brown hair hanging loose, crooning and gently rocking them back to sleep.

The Old Ford Cortina Car.

It was called Flower Power, sported a huge stylized black daisy on its boot, and was her faithful friend. She drove it everywhere, always, to my brother's great embarrassment, at the same speed, slowly.

Carrot Juice.

In this Iris was a trend setter. Long before the eat-healthy gurus arrived on the scene advocating "raw this" and "juiced that" with a side dish of mung bean sprouts, my mother was buying sacks of carrots for the daily juice-up.

Every morning six full glasses were lined up on the kitchen bench, one for each of us. Inevitably, because they'd been filled much earlier, by the time we got to them, a top layer of brown scum had formed. Drinking or not drinking the stuff was a battle of wills. Mostly she won.

Her Spinning Wheel.

Its soft clack-clack whirring was a familiar soundtrack to our lives. Along with the wheel came sacks of wool straight off the sheep. The end result was homespun knitted garments for everyone.

Later she added making natural dyes and weaving to her skills. Her dye brews resembled a witch's cauldron. Into them went onion skins, green walnuts, lichens, flower petals, anything that might yield up its color.

When seen through my teenage eyes much of who she was and what she did was incomprehensible. On a superficial level she was a mother doing what mothers did, mothering, albeit with a difference. Noone else I knew had a mother like mine. Beyond that, I didn't understand, or even begin to appreciate, what she gave us.

The hindsight of passing years and growing maturity have slowly revealed her real value. I look now and am humbled.

I see the enormity of raising five children on her own while hounded by the constant fear of "never having enough money". I marvel at the strength of will and determination that kept her going.

I have her hunger and respect for knowledge to thank for my education.

I remember a small but significant scene that took place a year or so after my father died. A couple of well-meaning older family friends were discussing our financial situation.

"Of course, Susan will leave school and...", one of them began. My Mother cut her short. "No. That will never happen. We'll manage."

We did, and I got an education, as did those following me.

She actively encouraged us to investigate and believe what we wanted to about life's BIG questions. The memory of her own struggle for permission and the right to find her own path was to leave us free.

While there always the backdrop of her ongoing inquiry into religious beliefs, morality and spirituality it was never foisted on us.

Her faith that we would each find our own "right" path and relationship with what it is to be human living in the world held us strongly. We were never in any doubt as to who was ultimately responsible for the lives we would lead. It was us.

Beauty is free. That's another legacy from her. It's everywhere if you have eyes to see it: a sun rise, a child's smile, a flower from the garden, a meal prepared with love, or a tree in autumn. Appreciation of it doesn't depend on, or increase, with the amount of money in your wallet.

And that was Iris, our mother, our flesh and blood version of her overlooked namesake, the goddess of the rainbow. She was our example of persistence, courage, service, faith, hope, love of beauty and the ongoing quest for truth.

Sample Tribute Speech Outline

Use the following headings as a guide to write the outline for your tribute speech.

Introduction
Open with an attention getter followed by introducing who you are talking about.

Background
Provide a context (setting) for accomplishments and obstacles. This validates your choice:- explains why you chose whom you did.

Relationship
Why is this person important to you?
Outline their impact on yourself and/or others. This is an opportunity to tell the stories highlighting the qualities you revere.

What has been learnt as a result of their influence?
What will you and others value and carry forward?

Conclusion
Restatement or summary of key points ending positively.

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