On Your Own Cocker

Caring for someone becomes your identity.

Every day has a purpose and every day has a routine. We are creatures of habit, and when those habits suddenly disappear, they leave behind an empty space that is difficult to describe. You feel lost, almost unable to process what to do next.

It’s funny because, in the thick of caring for someone, your mind aften drifts to all the things you’ll do “when I have the time”

“When I have the time, I’ll read that book”

” When I have the time, I’ll start exercising again”

” When I have the time, we’ll go away for the weekend”

Then one day, you’re handed the time. And you realise you have absolutely no idea what to do with it.

It’s been 5 months since my Mum left this earth to begin whatever journey comes next in this vast universe. I’m still battling that feeling of lost time. Everything I used to do no longer needs doing. Everything that once took every waking hour now gets done before the sun has risen.

It’s a strange feeling.

For at least the final 18 months of mum’s life, she was completely bedridden. Every single need depended on someone else. Feeding, fluids, medication, washing, changing bedding, repositioning her to prevent bed sores. Every hour of everyday revolved around keeping her comfortable, safe and loved.

Mum left this world without one single pressure sore or mark on her body. Knowing that fills me with an overwhelming sense of pride.

I did that!

Not because I wanted recognition, but because I made her a promise. I wanted her final years to be filled with dignity, comfort and love.

Mum’s funeral was on the 15th March 2026. Three days later, I started a full time job. Some people said it was too soon, that I should be taking more time.

What they didn’t realise is it gave my mind somewhere else to be. It gave me back my purpose. But it didn’t fill the emptiness.

Even now its the evenings and weekends that I struggle the most. More often than not, you’ll find me watching another sunset or sitting in the garden star gazing, quietly wondering who I am now.

Not a daughter.

Not who I was as a carer.

Just me…..

CARER GRIEF IS DIFFERENT.

People often think grief begins when someone dies, for many carers, it begins years before.

Medical professionals sometimes describe this as anticipatory grief – the grief that starts while the person you love is still alive. With illnesses like alzhiemer’s, you slowly lose pieces of them over months or years. You grieve the conversations that stop, the memories they forget, the little parts of their personality that quietly disappear long before their heart does.

Then after they die, another kind of grief begins.

Many carers experience what psychologists call role loss or an identity crisis. Your brain has spent years living with constant responsibility. Your days have been built around routines, problem-solving and caring for another human being. Those routines become deeply wired into your nervous system.

When they suddenly stop, your mind doesn’t know how to switch off. You wake expecting to listen for movement. You still think about medication times or ordering day. You still feel like someone needs you.

Only they don’t.

That leaves you feeling restless, guilty, anxious and completely unsure of who you are without your caring role. Grief as a carer is different because it doesn’t just take away someone you love. It empties parts of you that you never even realised were full.

It strips away an identity you wore every single day. It changes friendships, it changes routines, it changes purpose, and in a way it changes you. I’m still walking the path of discovering who I am and who I want to become. At 41 years old, that feels strange. Most people think you’re supposed to have life figured out by now. But maybe that’s the wrong way of looking at it. Maybe it’s about allowing yourself to become someone new after every chapter that changes you.

Mum passed away on Chinese New Year, as one year quietly gave way to the next. Whether you believe in signs or not, I can’t help but feel there was something beautiful about that. To me, it felt like she was telling me that endings are also beginnings. That it’s okay to close one chapter so another can begin. I don’t pretend to understand every single sign the universe sends.

But I got yours mum.