Why You Need To Swedish Death Clean: A Cautionary Tale

I’m going to ‘fess up now. I’ll admit that I haven’t read ‘The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning’ myself. Maybe I will some day. But I’ve heard enough about the book to get the gist of what it’s about. It refers to a practice ‘Döstädning’ where you mindfully keep track of your possessions and tidy them up so your loved ones don’t have to. Oh what I’d give for my loved ones to do this!

My Mum and Dad’s Story

My elderly Mum and Dad aren’t quite at death’s door yet. Instead the clearing emergency comes because they’re moving them from their home, a three bedroomed terraced house in Essex, to a one bedroomed bungalow that’s a hop, skip and a jump away from my home in Devon. In fact I timed it. It’s six minutes walk away by the shortest route. I’ll be able to keep an eye on them without crossing the country and have help from my partner et al. too. The downsize is that they have to get rid of a considerable amount of their possessions. Pronto! This isn’t easy for people who have verged on being hoarders. There’s over fifty years of accumulated stuff.

Okay they might have tried to do their own version of Swedish Death Cleaninjg before the home move but frankly what they’ve got rid of themselves hasn’t even scratched the surface. A couple of months ago there was still a lot of unused stuff. My brother and I would have spent weeks and weeks getting rid of it if they had popped their clogs.

Dad is the worst culprit. When he was younger he was a big fan of a car boot sales. Each week he brought home more and more artefacts in wide ranging categories. Do you really need three metal detectors in various states of decay stuck in the corner of the spare room, for instance? As such their current home is stuffed to the gunwales. Given that my brother, or my partner for that matter, can’t do confrontation I am my family’s bad cop and get on with it.

The Big Clear Out

For the last three months I’ve been popping back and forward to my Mum and Dad’s house, sorting through their possessions and yes, sometimes making myself very unpopular in the process. Ton and tons of stuff has already left the building including my mum’s massive collection of plastic bags which she’s disproportionately upset about me getting rid of. From the cleaning cupboard alone they filled two bin bags. Not just carrier bags either: crisp packets, bread bags and polythene wrap from plastic containers. Some of it was so old it was disintegrating.

The issue was that I refused to take her stash to be recycled. For starters I don’t have a clue where to go. Secondly I don’t have any transport or time between all my other little jobs. I am ragged. . So out with the rubbish they went. Sure I like to be green too but I have to be pragmatic. Mum is still giving me snaky glances every time she remembers my decluttering faux pas. She was suitably unimpressed with her cleaning cupboard but I don’t care. You can now get a broom out without being showered with plastic confetti.

There’s some stuff that will see a second life with a new owner .My family and I have taken a few bits and pieces for ourselves. Mum and Dad are happy for us to give other things away to good causes. I’ve been assigning spaces in the house to store everything that Mum and Dad are not going to take. A local homeless charity is having first dibs. I’m also seeing if the local Men’s Sheds group and a local charity charity fancy anything. We’ll pay a clearance company to get rid of the rest.

The Emotional Toll

I’ve tried to be sensitive about what I get rid of. For example Dad has a vast collection of fishing equipment, some he’s never even used. The chances of him dangling a maggot again are pretty slim. He doesn’t even like going outdoors much anymore. Yet being an angler is part of his psyche so I’ve already taken his most prized gear home for safekeeping. There’s furniture too that I’d be scrapping, a tatty old linen basket and their double headboard. But my parents are adamant that they want them. So on the removal van they’ll go.

There’s been some things that Mum was happy to let go that surprised me. I’m thinking of belongings inherited from deceased relatives even my younger sister. Bless her, Mum told me that she didn’t need things to remember them by as they were always in her heart.

Mum and Dad would tell you on the sly that I’m being a heartless bast*d because I’m getting rid of their things faster than they’d like but I’m certainly not unfeeling. Often I feel enormously torn. The biggest upset has been clearing out my Dad’s shed. There’s so much that looks like rubbish to me but has value to him. Yet it’s got to go as there’s no room in the new place.

Hopes For the Future

I’m hoping that their new bungalow will be a place where my parents are no longer disabled by having stuff around that they don’t use anymore. It would be so much easier if they are not tripping up things or having an extended hunt whenever they need something. We’ll see how that works out.

So I would urge you all to adopt the methodology of Swedish Death Cleaning. Get your own shit in order so that your own loved ones don’t have this onerous task. I don’t want my own son to go through this. At least with my parents I’ve been getting the job over and won’t have to deal with so much stuff at the time when they do head on up to their clouds. And I’m bossy enough to help them keep their new home much more ship shape.

Disclaimer

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