We’re death cleaning.
Don’t worry: Rael and I are in fine health. Death cleaning is shorthand for a thorough declutter undertaken to save one’s kids from having to do it when one is inevitably…undertaken.
I first heard the term when I came across a book called The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning (affiliate link1) by Margareta Magnusson, a bestseller in 2017. Upon hearing that title my first reaction was:
👀 😒 😠
Accurately or not, I judged it as a publisher’s attempt to cash in on the Konmari juggernaut that took off with Marie Kondo’s 2011 book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up (affiliate link).
Why the cynicism?
There’s no reason the words Swedish Death Cleaning should have sparked such non-joy. I’m sure Margareta Magnusson is a lovely person and I have no problem with Marie Kondo, who seems to have written from her heart of hearts.
While the Konmari method wasn’t for me2, I appreciated that it helped many people. If Magnusson had a different angle on the topic why shouldn’t she share it, and why wouldn’t a publisher follow demand?
I now understand I was reacting out of fear.
My parents were well at the time, but I knew “death cleaning” was beyond their capacity and the terrifying responsibility of dealing with their cluttered home of 50+ years would one would one day fall to me.
Which it did.
My Dad’s death in 2020 set in motion my Mom’s relocation to Portland, Oregon in late 2022. In order for that to happen, I spent weeks in California clearing out their belongings, arranging Mom’s move, and managing the sale of the house.3
Handling my parents’ stuff forever changed how I think about “stuff.”
It’s not as straightforward as more stuff bad, less stuff good; reality is more nuanced and complicated (#understatement).
On a practical level, however, handling the totality of my parents’ possessions imprinted on me the value of paring down long before you run out of stamina or time.4
So Rael and I have begun de-feathering our nest.
One 🪶 at a time.
I’m not a minimalist
If you were an Edit Your Life listener during my co-hosting days you know I’m not a habitual minimalist. I like the coziness of stuff. I like bulletin boards crammed with notes and old greeting cards. I like staring at crowded bookshelves. I like the random coffee mugs cluttering our kitchen cabinet.
We don’t have nearly the clutter my parents had, but we’ve lived in our house for over 20 years and raised two kids. Shit piles up, you know?
But the great thing is, unlike while moving my Mom, we’re not on a deadline.
Rael’s the Robocop/Energizer Bunny of decluttering, but I’m taking it slow: a shelf of books here, a kitchen drawer there. I take frequent breaks and quit before I get overwhelmed.
I gotta admit: it’s kind of fun.
Death cleaning is like an archaeological dig through the artifacts of our careers.
I found a dusty file box full of old statements and tax returns (the most recent file was labeled SHRED IN 20195).
Those papers reminded me of jobs I had forgotten about, career paths abandoned, and the roller coaster that is book royalties. Did you know you can earn negative royalties? Well, now you know.
Going through those files brought to mind how my son’s grappling with his career trajectory. He’s at the beginning of his work life, trying to pay the rent and utilities, keep himself fed, and maintain a modicum of optimism while wondering which next steps he’s supposed to take.
Here I am, in a chilly basement storage room, rifling through the evidence of how small job choices can lead to big career leaps or to possibilities that fizzle out completely. There was no trajectory we could have predicted.
And yet, here we stand, mostly intact.
That box of paper — clutter destined for a shredder — was a comforting reminder to trust in my son’s future, even though the path toward it will only become clear in the rear-view mirror.
The novelty will wear off soon enough.
We have a loooong way to go. There’s more stuff in the basement and garage, a closet hidden behind a dresser, plus the kids’ stuff and the digital stuff: the photos, documents, and cloud storage services I’ve avoided dealing with for years.
Sometimes one thing leads to two tasks, like when an old statement reminds me to set up electronic access and update an account. Or when I find stuff I’ve borrowed and forgotten to return. Or when I discover an old photo that sends me down the winding path of nostalgia or grief.
But at the moment, “death cleaning” feels more like a gift than a chore. It’s deeply satisfying knowing every item we get rid of is one less thing our kids will have to deal with.
And the physical reset is helping our third-act dreams come into focus.
It always helps to hear how other people actually do this kind of stuff. Got advice? Have you read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning or watched the TV series? Tales from your own decluttering adventures or someone else’s?
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I’ll keep you updated on our progress. Send snacks!!
Love, Asha
Christine and I questioned the Konmari method on the Edit Your Life podcast in 2016.
I learned so much from this experience, too much for a single post. Hopefully the story will unfold over time.
IF YOU CAN. Not everyone has that space in their lives or gets to choose the timing.
Caveat! I follow the rule that most household paper older than seven years can be shredded, but your record-keeping situation might be different, so check with your own financial and legal experts.
This really helped me:
“It’s deeply satisfying knowing every item we get rid of is one less thing our kids will have to deal with.”
My mum lives in an enormous house that is FULL of the kind of stuff that will be a nightmare to decide what to do with — antique editions of books I’ll never read; beautiful Georgian jewellery my grandmother collected that I don’t want (BUT WHAT IF MY KIDS DO ONE DAY???).
I am committed to not leaving my kid that level of stuff, but maybe I’ll try gently encouraging my mum to start purging too…
xxM
I didn't know there was a term for this. OK, so living in a NYC apartment does tend to make this task a bit easier, but even so, I'm determined not to leave this arduous task to my kids wherever I end up. Thankfully, my mom did her own death cleaning (coping? processing?) when she moved out of the house when my dad died, but I see the never-ending struggle that my MIL continuously deals with everyday in her house. It's to the point that whenever I go into both their homes, it's hard not to just see the future task in front of you when you look around.