Swedish Death Cleaning, My Way

Oops. I thought my recent whirlwind spurt of decluttering qualified as Swedish death cleaning, but research reveals I’m wrong. (Not the first time; nor likely to be the last.) Actual Swedish death cleaning is decribed as “a slow, methodical process rather than a sudden purge, often starting with large, easy-to-remove items.”

That's not my style. I like to whip through closets, drawers, cabinets and even the knickknacks in a short time, sifting and sorting quickly and then moving on. That method has served me well in the past — this exercise last week was not my first experience at paring down.  

In 2010, I got rid of two-thirds of my stuff before I moved from St. Louis to San Francisco. (See nextavenue.org/how-lose-1000-square-feet--and-keep-it/) That was a romp, because I was so eager to move. When a woman looking for a neighbor of mine knocked on my door one day, I offered her a chair. Not to sit in — to take home. Her husband picked up the nearly new recliner the next day. Next, I sold my crystal dining room chandelier from the trunk of my car. 

Five years ago, when I moved from a 720-square-foot place into a 500-square-foot apartment, I got rid of a leather loveseat, a cedar chest, a futon, a couple of area rugs, assorted lamps, a red Kitchen Aid stand mixer, two side tables and the microwave oven. I miss none of that. 

Author Margareta Magnusson explains Swedish death cleaning in her book “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter.” It was first published in 2017, and inspired a TV show in 2023 that Amy Poehler produced.

The purpose of Swedish death cleaning is “to reduce the mental and physical burden on loved ones after you pass away, turning a daunting task into a manageable one.” One friend, in an effort to reduce those future burdens on loved ones, affixes notes to the backs of special items in her home, instructing who gets what. When another friend tried that, after she was hospitalized her family members changed all her notes. To their surprise, the woman recovered fully — and promptly drew up a punitive will.  

On Writing Your Own Obituary

In July, a friend died suddenly, and though she had talked about writing her own obit, no one found it. I decided to try writing my own, and that's what jump-started my recent urge to purge. I need one version for my hometown paper and a shorter version for the newspaper in my adopted city. For a while, because of my job, I was famous in St. Louis, but now my family will have to pay to inform readers in both cities that I have moved on. Depending on how long I live (I feel fine, by the way), some of my retirement money may cover the cost.

During my stint on the night shift at what was then a major metropolitan daily newspaper, I wrote many obituaries on prominent people, and in the years since, I’ve penned obits for friends when families requested help. In the newspaper biz, obits follow a particular format. When you’re taking on the task yourself and will pay to have it published, you can write anything you want — once you figure out who you are. 

Warning: That takes longer than decluttering. 

Eventually, I decided to focus on my six decades of practicing journalism, but my friend Edward and I need to discuss that once more, because for over 30 years, we've argued about what constitutes a person's legacy. (As we age, we keep changing sides.) Meanwhile, I'll keep tweaking the document as I continue to determine what to include and what to leave out. I've already chosen not to bother mentioning where I went to high school. 

Never Save Anything for 'Later'

Working on my obit reminded me that I had recently broken my own rule not to save for later anything I buy. (At this point, how much “later” can there be?) Six months ago, the place that makes the towels I love best discontinued my favorite charcoal gray color. My current towels were about three years old, not stiff and crunchy, but not exactly fluffy either. 

Before they disappeared forever, I bought four new towels for hardly any money and stashed them away. As I fiddled with my obit, the image of the brand new towels, going unused and unloved, started to haunt me, so I dug them out, washed them and donated the older ones. 

Then I started looking around for items I own that have outlived their usefulness. Over the next couple of days, I got rid of stretched-out t-shirts, ratty socks and sweaters with holes beyond repair. I cleaned out two desk drawers and three kitchen drawers, shredded nonessential paperwork from 2025 and (here's the craziest part) culled a third of the photos and magnets displayed on the fridge. It was fun!

"Your apartment must be empty," a friend said earlier today. No — in spite of additional bouts of decluttering, I still have clothes I don’t wear, kitchen implements and bakeware I don’t use and assorted cute doodads that carry sentimental value. But for now, I am enjoying living with a bit less. After all, I have a challenging writing project.