After life: how Swedish ‘death cleaning’ helps with losing loved ones

The process also forces us to rethink our relationship to material possessions, writes Michael J. Coren

Things take up space in our minds, well beyond what our attics and garages hold (Getty)

When my mum died last year, she left a will – unlike more than half of Americans. It was a small mercy because we could deal with our grief without lawyers or probate courts.

Her belongings were another matter. A few years before she died, my mum had moved into a one-bedroom apartment. It was mostly clean and tidy whenever we came to visit. So when the time came, we thought it would be manageable. We were wrong.

Over the years, my mum had added many things to the home. Yet she rarely let anything go. Behind the closet doors hung racks and racks of clothes, many unworn in years. Kitchen cabinets were stacked with pots and plastic storage containers. In the garage sat bulk orders of tissues and hot sauce. Each item, on its own, wasn’t unreasonable. The aggregate proved overwhelming.

For several painful weeks, we gave things away, sometimes with labels still on them. During a garage sale, people carted off thousands of dollars in goods. We piled the driveway high with stuff and then posted to Buy Nothing groups. Finally, we paid a crew and multiple trucks to pick up the rest.

I’ve heard this story again and again, including from you. “The accumulation of stuff was overwhelming,” wrote Sharon, a reader from Texas, who downsized her parents’ home and then cleared out her father-in-law’s after he died. “So much of it hadn’t been used in years. So I decided that we wouldn’t do the same thing to our children.”

Sharon spent six months looking over every object in her home. Each day, she sold, donated or tossed something. “It was liberating,” she says. “Now, life is much simpler and the clutter is gone.”

This process has its own reality TV show, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning. Inspired by a bestselling book by Margareta Magnusson, 89, three Swedes travelled across the Atlantic to help Americans clean house – and face death. “A loved one wishes to inherit nice things from you,” admonishes Magnusson in her book. “Not all things from you.”

If you’re lucky enough to meet your material needs, then letting go of some of your stuff, or not buying it in the first place, can bring immediate benefits. Clutter is linked to stress and anxiety, even depression. Prioritising relationships and experience over possessions has been proven to elevate our happiness.

Clutter is also hard on our world. Each product we buy, on average, accounts for roughly 6.3 times its weight in carbon emissions. Together, our household purchases of goods and services account for between 26 and 45 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions. That’s heavily skewed toward the richest 1 per cent of the world’s population that emits two times more than the poorest 50 per cent.

And the biggest benefit comes from not buying things in the first place. So if letting go of our attachment to stuff is so good for us, why is it so hard? Here’s how to be happier with less stuff and better belongings.

Döstädning, or Swedish death cleaning, isn’t about clearing out closets. It’s about rethinking your relationship with things. Rather than making do with less, it’s about getting more from the things that make you happy.

Death cleaning happens to agree with scientists’ understanding of our relationship with things and why we’re loath to part with them. Decades of research have shown that we subconsciously see our possessions as physical extensions of ourselves. Losing them feels like an amputation because in our minds it is.

“We are attached to our belongings because we identify with them,” says Amber Cushing, a researcher at University College Dublin who studies the role of digital possessions in people’s lives.

This can veer into pathology such as hoarding. Belongings become so fused with a sense of self that people lose the ability to differentiate between, say, the value of saving a wedding ring or a candy wrapper. Instead of our possessions offering “a vital receptacle for our memories and identities,” researchers say they become “fortresses,” physical barriers to ward off feelings of insecurity and loneliness.

For most of us, of course, a degree of attachment is healthy, says Joseph Goodman, who studies consumer happiness and is affiliated with Ohio State University’s Fisher College of Business. “Material things sometimes get a bad rap,” he says. “It’s more nuanced. It depends on why you’re buying those things.”

His research and that of others show that materialism – a tendency to seek out possessions for status or approval – is unequivocally associated with more loneliness and less happiness. But not all possessions are equal. Things acquired for their beauty, utility or their association with positive experiences and social relationships don’t show the same correlation.

My great-grandmother’s garden knife, for example. Every time I hold it, the smooth hickory handle, polished over a half-century, resurrects blissful childhood hours spent in her Florida garden, a riotous jungle of mangoes and sapodillas.

“It’s a good thing having one or two things that remind you of your grandmother,” says Goodman. “But it’s not the number of things or the quality that matters. It’s about the symbolic meaning of it. That can bring a lot of happiness.”

Yet I’m willing to bet many things in your home, as in mine, are neither useful, beautiful nor sentimental. Death cleaning can help. Things take up space in our minds, well beyond what our attics and garages hold. By clarifying what’s important and what’s not, you make room. Your loved ones can receive what they might like before you go, relieving them of the burden of cleaning up once you’re gone. This might seem hard. Who wants to give away their stuff right now?

But holding on until the very end, or buying still more, proves to be the bigger burden, argues Magnusson: “Sad and morbid is a good description of what it is like to amass a bunch of stuff, and not really appreciating it.”

Here are her basics:

* Start with the easy stuff: begin with large or duplicate items first, then finish with the small and sentimental. Clothes are an excellent place to start since many of them have little practical or sentimental use. Photographs, personal papers and letters are the hardest to clear out.

* There’s no rush, but start now. “The more time you spend going through your belongings, the easier it will get,” says Magnusson. But this is a reflection, not a weekend affair. Readers of her book said they simply decided on one object each day, and soon most of the belongings were set: gone, given away or kept.

* Tell your loved ones: does the process sound morbid? In truth, it’s a gift. People you love will hear the stories about what makes these things important, and why you’re gifting them. That makes the job much more gratifying. And you can do it at any age.

* Keep the things that make you happy: after cleaning, your home should feel more beautiful and functional, with every item in its place. If you don’t notice those feelings, you probably still have too much.

In truth, there are infinite ways to do this.

Methods like Marie Kondo’s ask people to “choose what sparks joy.” Others ask: would I move with this to another house? Someone suggested depositing 50p – or more – to your savings account for every item you want to keep. My friend Zack Parisa has an ingenious trick to declutter his life: he packs things into a box with a date on it. After a year, if he hasn’t opened the box, he gives it away. He doesn’t peek inside or speculate on the contents. He simply takes the box to Goodwill.

Whatever you need to ditch – electronics, clothes, batteries, bubble wrap, light bulbs and other clutter – there’s almost always a place for it to go. When in doubt, the profusion of used goods stores and online communities can often turn trash into treasure.

The common thread is to have a framework. “You can go through each thing trying to make a decision, but it will be exhausting, says Goodman. “You need a shortcut or a rule.” The benefit of Magnusson’s approach, I found, is not just reassessing what you already own. It’s creating a framework for what to buy.

Before bringing something into my home, I now think about its fate: how will I feel living with it? Will someone else ever want it? Is it worth it? By recognising the stories I tell about my stuff, it has made it easier to let go of old things or avoid buying new ones – without losing a bit of myself.

© The Washington Post