Mostly because he had to. Vickerman was as intense a man as you might come across. As many of his former teammates and coaches will attest, he "always had a plan". But he also lived with the spectre of injury for much of his playing career, and that made him think hard about life after rugby.

It is why he made the difficult decision to begin weaning himself off his identity as "Daniel Vickerman, pro rugby player" and study at Cambridge in 2008. He never completely gave the sport away, and he was able to mount a  comeback for Australia at the 2011 World Cup. But the stress fractures that blighted his later playing years did not relent and a season with the Waratahs in 2012 saw his contribution restricted to that of off-field leader and mentor, a role into which he threw himself with his customary focus.

Vickerman, who had a wife, Sarah, and two young boys to support, spent the next four years carving out a career in the property and development industry, all the while maintaining his close links to the rugby world and helping others think about their futures. Last year he became chair of a joint-Australian Rugby Union and Rugby Union Players' Association committee dedicated to player development. From the outside, looking in, a recent move to a new role with funds manager Newgate Capital Partners capped the oft-talked about "transition". He had navigated those dark and choppy waters and appeared to be sailing along in perfect conditions.

The circumstances that led to Vickerman's death will have been about much more than that word, "transition". But it has not stopped – and nor should it – the tight-knit rugby community he left behind from questioning its efforts on that front. As ARU chairman Cameron Clyne said on Monday, Vickerman's death would "shine a light" on the fact that rugby and all sports must do everything possible to help players move from sport to real life.

"It's very early and quite raw I think for a lot of people in rugby and I want to respect the family and not go into too much," Clyne said. "We do take this issue very, very seriously and this tragic incident will cause us as a game to ensure we are do everything possible to work with players. We've offered [help] immediately to players who are impacted, and coaches, but it will cause us to shine a light on this very important issue of players transitioning post their playing career."

Greg Mumm, a former coach-turned-consultant, counted Vickerman among his friends. Last week Mumm, who consults on athlete career development as managing director of his firm, Final Whistle, published a powerful piece distilling some hard truths about life after professional sport. "Athletes are trained to push through pain, ignore hardships and endure sacrifices – it's the price of victory," he wrote.  "As an athlete, I was taught it, and as a coach, I preached it. The trade-off is the shared experience with other athletes, teammates or fellow competitors, coaches and supporters. We strive together and are united in the camaraderie it creates.

"But what happens when the stadium lights are turned off on our careers and when the fans find someone new to cheer for? Does our training help or hinder us in preparation for life after sport?

Mumm spoke to Australian netball legend Liz Ellis, who took extraordinary measures to make sure her transition was as smooth as possible.

Ellis, like Vickerman, studied throughout her playing career, then set up a business in her final year in netball. She also, Mumm outlined, spent time researching the physical and hormonal effects of "de-training" and the impacts this would have on her mood, going on to create a training plan to manage that phenomenon.

Ellis' approach, in its meticulousness and its breadth – she also ticked off a list of holidays she had denied herself as an elite athlete – should do as much as any player development program to shine a light on the needs of players post-retirement. With sports doing more than ever before to smooth the way for their athletes, Ellis proves life after sport requires as much detailed preparation as life playing sport.

Vickerman knew it and planned for it too, which makes his death tremendously harder to take.

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