The other week I finally finished reading a book that I have had for several months. It’s not a big volume; on the contrary, it only has 73 pages. It’s taken so long because I’ve been reading it in fits and starts, such that I’ve had to go back to the beginning several times because I’d forgotten what was written before.
The book is The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson (Scribner). It was recommended to me by my friend Stephen Morrison, who was partly responsible for getting Ms. Magnusson to write the book, which made the New York Times bestseller list and has been published in 30 countries. Stephen was executive producer of the eight-episode 2023 television show (streamed on Peacock TV) based on the book, which brought eight “death cleaners” from Sweden to the US.
Ms. Magnusson has written a follow-up book, The Swedish Art of Aging Exuberantly, and is working, with her daughter, on a third – and final – book, with one of the chapters dealing with death cleaning for those who don’t have children, since she is asked about this a lot.
In our culture, talk of death is regarded as morbid and generally avoided, so this idea of death cleaning may be a turnoff. To take away the morbidity, just think of it as downsizing, decluttering or Marie Kondo-ing (is she still popular?) – in short, getting rid of stuff.
The point of death cleaning is so that when we’re gone – and we will all go – our family or whoever is left behind will not have such a hard time going through our things and figuring out what to do with them. We tend to accumulate things – so many things! – some of which we no longer have use for (or maybe never really had any use for), no longer care for, maybe even no longer remember that we have them. As Ms. Magnusson puts it, “It is amazing, and also a little strange, how many things we accumulate in a lifetime.”
When I moved to a condo unit from our four-bedroom family home after both my parents passed, we had a two-week garage sale (we got a thrill when Susan Roces, who lived in the area, came by, but she didn’t buy anything) – everything from plants to plates, furniture to frying pans, books to bikes, and clothes, oh so many clothes!
I brought some stuff from the house that I felt had value, sentimental and otherwise, and also so I wouldn’t have to buy things, especially furniture (bringing my mom’s solid narra buffet table up to my unit was a real challenge). But I felt I had quite successfully downsized to condo living, with limited storage space (I must admit though I rent a storage unit in the basement).
After finishing the book, I decided to take a serious look at what I had – and was forced to face the reality that I have so much – too much – stuff. Where did they all come from? Multiple sets of glassware and cutlery, bowls and platters, steamers and trays, cake pans and pie plates… My mother was a fantastic cook and baker and while I have all of her recipe notebooks and cookbooks, I am nowhere near her prowess in the kitchen.
I’m not a shopper and mall sales don’t tempt me (I’m not very good for the economy). My hangouts are the supermarket and the palengke (now our neighborhood Sunday market) and what I buy are perishables and consumables. So where did all that stuff come from?
My apartment has limited walls, so there are artworks in storage. I have taken them out and intend to consult an artist-friend about an art sale. I no longer have many books, as I have through the years been donating them to libraries. I gave away all my CDs, since I don’t have a CD player anymore. I found a stack of CDs that contain pictures, but I’ll deal with them another day.
I’m hardly a clothes horse, and the “latest” in style and color don’t excite me. I’m a boring – and lazy – dresser, just the basics, though not as basic as Steve Jobs was with his 100 black Issey Miyake turtlenecks. Knowing that, my friends give me clothes, very nice clothes that I wouldn’t have bought for myself. I got rid of my high heels and my shoe rack now has what my niece calls “old lady” shoes, i.e. flats with rubber soles and rubber shoes (even in this I am not up to trend: I don’t have ballet sneakers).
I’m doing the inventory of my stuff following Ms. Magnusson’s tips on how to go about this formidable task. The book doesn’t have chapters but sections, divided with charming drawings that she did (she’s a painter and has exhibited in Sweden, Singapore and Hong Kong, where she has lived). There’s “How to begin,” a very good place to start; “Sort and sort out,” meaning categorize; and there will always be “Stuff you can’t get rid of.”
But if you have 40 luxury vehicles and over 100 designer bags, where do you begin? I guess though if the government sequesters these assets, that solves the problem of your having to get rid of them.
Death cleaning isn’t just subtraction; it is finding meaning, unearthing memories, rediscovering joys among the things that have filled – cluttered might be a better word – your life. Not all discoveries will be pleasant though; there may be things that will bring back bad or sad memories, and lead you to wonder why you bothered keeping them at all. But life’s like that – filled with the good and the bad, the smiles and the tears, the wins and the losses.
Ms. Magnusson suggested starting early, say at age 65, so that “when you, like me, are between 80 and 100,” letting go of things won’t be such a daunting task. And when life finally lets go of us, we can, hopefully, as Isaiah wrote (55:12), “go out with joy, and be led forth in peace.”