Unlike in larger families where caregiving load can be spread out, an only child faces immense stress and is more likely to suffer burnout
By Elizabeth Law, Correspondent, The Straits Times, 28 Sep 2024
On a Tuesday afternoon at a coffee shop in Ang Mo Kio, Mr Glenn Poh returns to his waiting mother with two drinks: one hot and one iced. She picks the iced lemon tea.
“All my life she never used to drink cold drinks but now, she always wants something iced. It’s like she’s a small kid again,” he says of his 74-year-old mother, Madam Tan Sow Meng, who has Alzheimer’s disease.
As the only son, Mr Poh took it upon himself to look after her, personally navigating the twists and turns of caring for an ailing parent.
“Whatever needs to be done needs to be done. It’s because I was raised like this,” he says. Having seen how his mother cared for his late father after a stroke, he knew he wanted to do the same for her.
In Singapore, with its rapidly ageing population and cultural norms of filial piety, many adult children find themselves thrust into the role of caregivers.
Life can be put on hold when mum or dad falls ill, and those without siblings or other home help can find themselves shouldering the whole load.
Data shows there were at least 128,800 only children with mothers above the age of 50 in 2023, more than triple the 39,800 in 2003.
In a population of 5.92 million, 1.36 million people have mothers above the age of 50. While the number of only children is just a fraction of that total, researchers and social workers warn that unlike in larger families where the caregiving load can be spread out, only children face immense stress. Among other health challenges, they are more likely to experience burnout.
A stout man with a buzz cut dressed casually in a polo shirt, shorts and sliders, Mr Poh, 44, is unfailingly polite. He says “thank you” or “pai seh” (Hokkien for “sorry to bother”) to anyone he interacts with, and thanks The Straits Times team profusely at each of our three interviews.
He talks about his days in a methodical way, ticking off each activity as if going down a list. He says drawing up lists and “standard operating procedures” helps him find structure amid the uncertainty and constantly evolving nature of his mother’s condition.
But ask him about challenging moments, and his upper lip quivers.
The week before, rather than take her shower at the usual time, his mother fussed around with throwing away rubbish and lighting the oil lamp at the family altar.
“I shouted at her, and I asked her to go and take a bath, which she did. By the time she came out of the bathroom, I apologised but she didn’t remember. I regret it when I lose my temper with her because she cannot remember,” he says, tearing up.
“So it’s not a good feeling. Because you did something wrong, but you’re not able to make up for it.”
He admits this often happened in the initial stages, especially when he had unrealistic expectations about his mother’s condition, and became frustrated that he could not do more to help her.
