We’ve all heard of Marie Kondo, but Swedish death cleaning might just be gentler and easier to do.
I recently lost my mum at the age of ninety. Her decline and passing was rapid. One week she was still baking her famous banana loaf for neighbours at the retirement village, then a few days later she had a fall, and then another two. She didn’t hurt herself (I used to joke with her that short plump people don’t fall far. We had a great relationship and were firm friends.) But after the falls she started declining. A week later she was in frail care and a week later – exactly a week after my birthday – she passed away.
As an only child, it fell to me to move her things out of her little flatlet. My one cousin, who was also close to my mum, offered to help, but then she got COVID, and I had to do it all myself in just over two weeks. I could only work after hours and weekends and, overwhelmed as I was, I worked like a slave. My mum had been in her unit for almost twenty years and boy-oh-boy was it full! We were both hoarders, though I believe I am worse. At least she didn’t have twelve dinner sets and cabinets full of stuff, as I do. Still, her place was packed to the rafters with all manner of things. She loved to dress well and had an entire four-metre wardrobe crammed with clothes, shoes, handbags and boxes of jewellery. An avid knitter and crocheter, there were loads of jerseys and blankets and wool. Not to mention all her kitchen stuff. She enjoyed cooking and baking and still cooked her own meals right till the end, even insisting on making a pudding every Sunday when she came to our house for lunch.
It was during this period of personal upheaval that I’d heard of the Swedish concept of death cleaning. It was a revelation that begged further investigation. Having tried to Marie Kondo my life and having failed miserably – everything sparked joy. Of course it would – I’d bought it because it did! Zen just isn’t my thing, even though I love the idea of it. And I have ADHD, so the minute I need to tidy, my brain goes into paralysis and nothing gets done.
Although its name might invoke visions of the afterlife, Swedish death cleaning has more to do with decluttering than anything negative. The Swedish concept “döstädning”, is a combination of the words death (dö) and cleaning (städning). And while the idea is certainly related to one’s passing, it’s also very much about making life a bit easier for you while you are still alive and kicking and those you love by lessening the load once you’re gone, so even though it is recommended for people over sixty-five, it’s a great practice for people of any age.
Written after the traumatic losses of her mother and husband, Swedish artist, Margareta Magnusson introduced the world to this practice in her book The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter. She explains this as a process to “remove unnecessary things and make your home nice and orderly when you think the time is coming closer for you to leave the planet.” It’s about taking time, while you have it, to appreciate your stuff – and then letting it go.
The ultimate goal of death cleaning is to reduce the time and effort spent decluttering by the people you leave behind. Having less stuff eases the burden of loved ones who, already grieving, must also deal with your things. Swedish death cleaning is not a quick fix but an often difficult and time-consuming process.
Somewhere “between eighty and one hundred,” the author was in the thick of her own death cleaning as she wrote the book. Her approach is both instructional and inspirational, humorous and practical, covering topics such as handling home furnishings, heirlooms, and personal mementos, as well as dealing with secret vices, pets, and “the perils of man caves.” Throughout the book, her storytelling demonstrates a major takeaway: that it is not sad to death clean. Instead, it’s rewarding to spend time with the things you have and to reflect on how an object came into your life.
While death cleaning at its core is about preparing for death, it does not solely apply to those who are nearing the end of their lives. Magnusson is quick to identify that the concepts of Swedish death cleaning can actually occur many times throughout one’s life, including at the end of a relationship, when downsizing, or taking care of what remains after a family member’s death. Ah, if only my mum had read this book!
Swedish death cleaning is a way to take stock of what we have and getting rid of the things we no longer need, or have served their purpose. It is all about making life easier and more efficient in the now.
Magnusson references some signs that it might be time for you to begin decluttering. When you can’t close a drawer, fit another item in your wardrobe, or you’re grateful someone cancelled plans because you just didn’t have it in you to make your place presentable, it’s time to start decluttering.
Start with the simpler tasks and work your way to the more arduous ones. Quick success can be motivational, so make your first foray into the process of death cleaning relatively easy. Magnusson advises starting with large and impersonal things, like furniture, and finishing with small, nostalgic items like photographs. Personally, I started with my sock and underwear drawer and soon found myself doing more. In my case it isn’t an easy process, as most of what I have I truly enjoy having, but I still managed to part with quite a lot, by gifting, donating or selling some good pieces at auction. Its very much an ongoing process.
Donate, give away or sell those items that are still in good shape. Don’t pass on ragged clothes, or overused furniture, or broken things. Know what to bin and what to pass on and always ask someone if they want whatever item you wish to give them. My mum had loads of costume jewellery and my cousins don’t even remotely have her taste for over the top costume jewellery, so when I needed to part with her things, I asked them to go through the boxes and take whatever they wished to have. Very little was distributed this way, so I still have an enormous amount to part with.
Interestingly, when I started clearing out my mum’s cottage, everything started off neatly packed and folded. But, as time started conspiring against me (OK, like half a day in…) I just dumped stuff to be donated into bin bags and, in the end, I made more trips to the rubbish bin than to the car.
A box labelled “throw away” is a key to successful Swedish death cleaning. I now have my own box with a label that reads: “In the event of my death, throw away”. This box houses memories that are important to me. Pictures of my mum and my dogs, birthday cards from significant people, one of my gran’s beautiful hand-embroidered hankies and such. It will save anyone from having to sort through things that have no value beyond sentiment.
Also keep a file with passwords, important documentation and your will in a safe place. This is not something we like to think about, but it makes life easy even while we’re still alive. Trust me, I’ve dipped into that file more than once looking for an account number, or password.
Throw away or donate clothes you haven’t worn in the past year and be strict with that rule. Repurpose worn tee shirts as cleaning rags (we all need those). And get into the habit of randomly picking up an object, deciding if you really need it, and then either put it back down, or put it in a box to donate. A friend of mine was great at this. She taught me a simple trick and always said that when you stop seeing something, it is time to part with it. Her home was by no means sparse, but she was good at letting things go. She still bought stuff, but had a firm rule of “something in, something out”.
I read somewhere that gay men, in particular, tend to be keen shoppers, often overspending, and might even in extreme cases be considered hoarders, and that this behaviour is tied to most of us having suffered some sort of childhood trauma where their need to be loved, feel accepted and to be validated for being their authentic selves were missing from their lives. This is especially true for those, like me, who grew up in a time when it wasn’t just illegal to be gay, but you could be bullied beaten and ostracised at school, among your peers and even at home – as was the case with me. Gay men who have suffered childhood trauma often indulge in all manner of negative behaviour, like substance abuse, overeating, compulsive shopping, risky sex, and the list goes on. One of these behaviours is shopping. We buy stuff to self-validate. It doesn’t just supply a short-lived dopamine rush, but it is, in a way, a form of self-care. By buying ourselves things like clothing, jewellery, watches, fragrances and homeware, we are basically telling ourselves that we are loved and deserve having nice things. A better option than hitting the shops is to take regular time out for a solo date night once a month, or go try a new coffee shop and do some people watching. Go see a movie or visit a spa. Always by yourself. Make “me memories”.
I have yet to see a gay guy buy rubbish though – we all seem to aim for the better things, which is why most of us are a tad over extended, with credit card statements longer than War And Peace! At least now I know why I’m such a shopaholic. Simply, it feels good, I didn’t grow up with a father who gave me any form of validation. Hugs never happened, but bullying did. And as for nice gifts, well, at least my mum gave me Christmas and birthday gifts. But naming the beast makes it less scary and easier to deal with and, with a bit of luck, keep it somewhat at bay. Knowing why I tend to go overboard has helped me review my own traumas and think about why I want something and of late, many items have found their way back to the shop shelves, rather than making a trip to the till. Makes me kinda proud and feel in charge. I’m now opting to make “me memories” more regularly.
That said, I’ll probably shop like a demon till the day I die, ( have a penchant for antiques), and since I don’t want to part with most of my treasures, I have started photographing and cataloguing my better possessions, so that if I do pop my cork, those who have to deal with my estate will have some sort of structure to guide them and won’t have to make sense of a lifetime’s worth of acquisitions that meant the world to me, but might just be seen as so much old stuff by my inheritors.
Most people never even consider what will happen after they’ve shuffled off this mortal coil, but a bit of death cleaning before we do can lighten not only our own load, but also that of the people you leave behind.
And, as a last note, if you happen to be into porn, toys and other adult mischief, nominate a close friend to take care of your stuff in order to spare your family this uncomfortable discovery.
Source: Gay Pages Summer 2023
