What Happens After I’m Gone? A Parent’s 100-Year Plan for Special Need

Wooden boardwalk leads to sunlit hills.

When I turned 50, I found myself staring at the ceiling late at night, asking the question every parent of a vulnerable child eventually asks: What happens after I’m gone?

Up to that point, my life had been a mix of successes and failures, lessons learned the hard way, and a fair share of regrets. I had already built a comfortable retirement plan for myself—20 years of investing had paid off. But my child, who are on the autism spectrum, will live far beyond me. My child's journey doesn’t end when mine does. That thought shook me awake.

The Shift in Perspective

Retirement planning suddenly felt too small. Most people plan until their 80s. I had to think in terms of 100 years. My son was 20 at the time. With advances in medicine, he could live well into his 90s, even 100. So the real challenge wasn’t just my retirement, it was his entire lifetime.

That meant I wasn’t just building wealth. I was building continuity. A safety net that would outlast me, and maybe even outlast generations.

Turning Fear Into an Experiment

At first, I didn’t know how to begin. So, in my usual excitable way, I called my investment buddies Gan and James.

“I’ve got an idea,” I blurted out over the phone. “Let’s try something crazy.”

They sighed—the kind of sigh friends give when they know I’m about to pitch one of my experiments.

“What’s the plan this time?”

“I want to design a portfolio that lasts 100 years,” I said. “Imagine a conservative setup—5% returns, steady income, nothing too risky. Just enough to support my child for life. Do you think it’s possible?”

There was a pause. Then Gan said, “Alright, I’m game. Let’s see what we can do.”

So we went to work. We approached banks, private funds, and wealth managers with a hypothetical scenario: We have $10 million to invest. Could you create a 100-year portfolio?

Some people laughed. One banker told me flat-out: “Impossible.”

That word—impossible—always feels like a red flag to me. It usually means they don’t know how, not that it can’t be done. Others, though, leaned in. They scribbled ideas, played with numbers, and started to imagine the challenge.

Why Talking About Death Feels So Hard

One of the biggest barriers I see among parents and caregivers is simply talking about death. In some cultures, it’s even considered a jinx—something you shouldn’t say out loud, as if speaking it brings it closer. But here’s the important distinction I’ve learned: when we plan for what happens after our death, it’s not morbid—it’s an act of love.

Thoughts of love are virtuous. They create virtuous cycles. They bring comfort, stability, and peace to the people we leave behind.

If a person dwells on how to die, that’s a destructive thought. It carries fear and despair, and destructive thoughts often invite destructive outcomes. But when we plan how our loved ones will live after us, that’s a virtuous thought. And virtuous thoughts bring virtuous outcomes.

Estate planning, then, isn’t about death at all. It’s about love. It’s about life continuing, with dignity and care.

Beyond Money

The more I dug, the more I realised this wasn’t just about investments. Money alone wasn’t enough. Without structure, it could vanish. Without guidance, it could be misused. Without legal protections, my child could be left vulnerable.

That’s when I entered the world of estate planning.

And let me tell you—it was overwhelming at first. Lawyers, trusts, wills, guardianships… it felt like a different language. But slowly, I began piecing it together.

Estate Planning Through a Parent’s Eyes

Estate planning isn’t just for billionaires with yachts. For parents like us, it’s about love. It’s about making sure the people who depend on us are safe when we’re not there to protect them.

I learned that estate planning boils down to three main things:

1. Who gets what – not just money, but responsibilities.

2. Who makes decisions – financial, medical, and personal, if you can’t.

3. How to keep it simple – avoiding fights, taxes, and stress for the people you love.

For caregivers, there’s a fourth: How do I make sure my child is cared for, every single day, for as long as they live?

The Tools That Changed Everything

Along the way, I discovered tools that gave me peace of mind:

• Special Needs Trusts – Instead of leaving a lump sum, I could ensure money is released gradually, in ways that support my child without jeopardising government aid.

• Advance Healthcare Directives – Writing down my wishes meant my family wouldn’t have to guess if something happened to me.

• Beneficiary Reviews – I learned that policies and pensions pass directly to whoever is named—even if my will says otherwise. That was a wake-up call.

• Letter of Wishes – This was deeply personal. It wasn’t legal, but it let me tell future carers about my child’s routines, quirks, and the little things that matter—like how he likes his food or what calms him when he’s upset.

• Guardianship Planning – Maybe the hardest part: deciding who steps into my shoes if I die first. Having that conversation wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

The Lessons I Carry With Me

It took me five years to pull everything together. Five years of trial, error, conversations, and paperwork. Along the way, I learned:

• Never accept “impossible.” If one advisor can’t see the vision, find another.

• Start now, not later. Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us.

• It’s more than money. Estate planning is about structure, guidance, and love.

• Keep it alive. Plans should evolve as laws, finances, and family situations change.

Why This Matters

We all hope to live long, healthy lives. But none of us know the “when” or “how” of our end. People die as babies, as teenagers, as young adults. Age doesn’t guarantee time.

Estate planning gave me one gift: peace. It let me close my eyes at night without that pit of fear in my stomach. I know that when I’m gone, my son won’t just survive—he’ll be supported.

A Parent’s Call to Action

If you’re a caregiver, please don’t wait. You don’t need millions to start. Begin small, but begin now.

Here’s how:

1. Write a will—even a simple one.

2. Review your insurance and pensions.

3. Explore a trust that fits your child’s needs.

4. Draft a letter of wishes tonight—raw, honest, imperfect.

5. Talk to a lawyer who understands special needs families.

Because love doesn’t end when we do.