Let’s talk about something we all avoid thinking about until we’re forced to: our own funerals. Specifically, the soundtrack.
I know, I know. You’d rather you’d rather do almost anything else. But here’s the thing—if you don’t make these choices, someone else will. And that someone might think “My Heart Will Go On” is a tasteful choice. (No shade to Celine, but you might not want your loved ones ugly-crying to the Titanic theme while staring at your casket?)
First, a Note on Tradition
Some religions have very prescribed funeral services—some filled with specific hymns and chants, others with no music at all. If your faith tradition has clear guidelines, this might be a shorter conversation for you, and that’s perfectly fine. There’s deep comfort in ritual, and those structures exist for good reason.
But if you have flexibility? If your service can be customized? Then pull up a chair. We have things to discuss.
Why This Actually Matters
Music does something words alone can’t. It carries memory. The opening notes of a song can transport your daughter back to Saturday mornings making pancakes, or remind your best friend of that road trip where you both got spectacularly lost and somehow ended up at a goat farm.
Choosing your funeral music isn’t morbid—it’s a final gift. It’s saying, This is who I was. This is what moved me. This is how I want you to remember our time together.
Some Approaches to Consider
The Traditional Route Hymns, classical pieces, or religious music that reflects your faith. “Amazing Grace” has staying power for a reason. So does Pachelbel’s Canon (though every wedding musician just shuddered). These choices signal comfort, continuity, and the sacred.
The Personal Anthology Songs that meant something specific to you. Your wedding song. The lullaby you sang to your kids. That one track from your college years that still makes you feel 22 and invincible. These are conversation starters for those gathered—”Oh, she loved this song because…”
The Unexpected Choice Maybe you want to go out to “Here Comes the Sun” or Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” Perhaps you’re the person who genuinely wants “Highway to Hell” played at the end, and honestly? Own it. Laughter at a funeral isn’t disrespectful; it’s a release valve.
The Quiet Option Some moments don’t need music. Silence can be its own kind of honoring, giving space for private memory, for breathing, for simply being present with grief.
A Few Practical Thoughts
- Consider the venue. A cathedral has different acoustics (and expectations) than a beachside gathering.
- Think about your people. If your 87-year-old mother will be there, maybe don’t make the whole service a Metallica retrospective. Balance is kind.
- Live music versus recorded? Both are valid. A soloist singing “Ave Maria” hits differently than a recording, but a recording of Ella Fitzgerald is still Ella Fitzgerald.
- Write it down. Tell someone. Put it in a document. Because “I think Mom mentioned something once about wanting Johnny Cash?” is not a plan.
The Actual Hard Part
Here’s what I’ve learned from talking to people about this: choosing the music isn’t really the hard part. The hard part is admitting that someday, there will be a service. That you won’t be there to see who shows up, to know if your cousin finally made peace with your sister, to hear the stories people tell about you when you’re not in the room.
But you can leave them this. A few songs that say, I thought about you. I wanted this moment to mean something. I wanted you to have something beautiful to hold onto.
That’s not morbid. That’s love, doing its work in advance.
One Final Thought
Whatever you choose, make sure at least one selection is something that makes people feel something good—something that lifts the heaviness, even for a moment. Grief is exhausting, and your people will need a breath.
And if you genuinely want “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees played at your funeral for the irony alone? I respect that energy. Just maybe give your family a heads-up so they can prepare their poker faces.
