Marie called me three weeks after her husband’s funeral. Not because she needed help with arrangements or condolences, those had been handled. She called because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat still for more than ten minutes.
“I keep checking on him,” she whispered into the phone. “I know he’s not there, but my body doesn’t. Every two hours, I wake up thinking I need to turn him, give him his medication, and check his breathing. What am I supposed to do with all this… readiness?”
This conversation, one of many we’ve had at SG Assist, reveals something profound about the caregiving journey that we rarely discuss: the aftermath.
We prepare extensively for care, including medication schedules, mobility aids, and emergency protocols. But are we preparing caregivers not just for care, but for what comes after?
The end of caregiving isn’t just about loss. It’s about the death of an identity, the sudden silence after years of constant vigilance, and the bewildering question that haunts so many: “If I’m no longer caring for someone, who am I?”
What grief can look like for caregivers
When the person you’ve cared for is gone, grief arrives wearing many faces, most of them unrecognisable.
Emotional Whiplash: One moment you’re orchestrating complex care routines, the next you’re staring at an empty room wondering what to do with your hands. The transition from hypervigilance to sudden stillness creates a psychological vertigo that few understand.
Identity Vacuum: For years, maybe decades, you’ve been “John’s caregiver” or “Mum’s daughter who handles everything.” When that role ends, who are you? This isn’t just sadness, it’s existential displacement.
Practical Grief: While others mourn the person, you’re drowning in estate matters, medical bills, and the crushing weight of conversations you’ll never have. You’re grieving someone while simultaneously becoming their voice in a world of paperwork and final decisions.
The Dual Loss: You’re not just grieving the death of someone you loved, you’re grieving the end of your purpose, your routine, your reason for getting up at 3 AM. This double bereavement often goes unrecognised, leaving caregivers feeling guilty for mourning something beyond the person they’ve lost.
The unseen toll: why grief support matters in the caregiving journey
In our work at SG Assist, we’ve observed that former caregivers face significantly higher rates of depression, anxiety, and what psychologists call “complicated grief”, a prolonged mourning process that interferes with daily functioning.
Singapore’s fast-paced culture compounds this challenge. We’re uncomfortable with extended grief, quick to encourage “moving on” and “getting back to normal.” But normal doesn’t exist anymore. The caregiver’s normal was shaped by someone else’s needs, and that framework has vanished.
The Institute of Mental Health notes that grief can manifest in anger (even toward relatives or healthcare staff), guilt, social withdrawal, sleep disturbances, and agitation. Recovery typically takes 1–2 years, but support can help shorten that timeframe.
Consider this sobering reality: caregiving is often 24/7, but support after loss? Often 0/0. We rally around families during crises, but when the crisis ends, so does the support. The very people who gave everything to care for others find themselves alone with their grief, expected to transition back to a life seamlessly, they may not remember how to live.
It’s not the epilogue, it’s the next chapter
We’re beginning to see grief not as an unfortunate ending, but as a natural part of the caregiving journey. And this transition deserves recognition, support, and space to evolve.
We need to shift the way we speak about people who have gone through caregiving. Rather than calling them “former caregivers,” let’s recognise them for what they truly are: lifelong advocates. The empathy, skills, and insight they’ve developed don’t disappear with loss. They evolve. These experiences can continue to shape and strengthen the communities in which they are located.
When supporting someone in grief, presence matters more than pressure. Instead of asking “How are you holding up?” which subtly implies they should be, try something gentler like “What’s today been like for you?” It allows space for honesty, however messy or quiet that might be. Grief has no schedule, and people deserve the freedom to feel what they feel without expectations.
In time, some may feel ready to reconnect with a sense of purpose. That doesn’t mean replacing their loss, but building on it. Their experience can be a powerful force for good, whether it’s offering support to other caregivers or simply being a compassionate voice in someone else’s journey.
And finally, the most meaningful thing we can do is to stay connected simply. Don’t disappear after the flowers fade. Reach out six months later, or even a year from now. Their worth to the community didn’t end when their caregiving role did. If anything, it deepened.
The courage to care, the courage to grieve
Caregiving requires extraordinary courage, the courage to love someone through their most vulnerable moments, to sacrifice your own needs for another’s well-being, and to make impossible decisions with grace and compassion.
But grieving the end of that journey requires equal courage. It takes bravery to sit with the silence, to rebuild an identity, to find meaning in loss. It takes strength to admit that you’re not just sad someone died — you’re lost without them to care for.
To everyone reading this: if you know someone who has recently completed a caregiving journey, please reach out, not with solutions or timelines, but with your presence. Let them know that their years of caring haven’t gone unnoticed, and that their grief is valid and sacred.
Grief doesn’t mean the end of purpose; it can be the beginning of something deeper. When we honour both the caring and the grieving, we create space for former caregivers to discover new ways to make their love matter.
The person they cared for may be gone, but their capacity to care, now informed by loss, deepened by grief, and expanded by experience, continues to ripple outward, touching lives they may never know.
If you’re navigating grief, or supporting someone who is, SG Assist is here. Let’s talk.
This article was written by Brendan Seah and originally posted on LinkedIn on July 10, 2025.
