Is this Death Cleaning?

I think the Swedes have invaded my space

Photo by Pixabay

I woke up this morning watching my wife standing in front of an open closet. From it she silently pulled out shoes, coats, scarves, and goodness knows what else.

“I wonder if Jen wants this?”

Jen is her adult daughter.

My wife was in full death cleaning mode.

“I’m going back to my minimalism stage. We were so much better at this a few years ago. It’s time.”

By now you’ve heard of the concept. It’s been around for years. Death cleaning is the process of freeing yourself of life’s clutter. It was popularized by the book The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning. The author, Margaret Magnusson describes it as removing unnecessary things and making “your home nice and orderly when you think the time is coming closer for you to leave the planet.”

Certainly the time is closer. It’s simply a matter of numbers.

The idea of a minimalist life is not new. It’s just not very American. It’s anti-consumerism, anti-stuff, anti-commerce. It’s Zen-like. It’s Buddhist. Minimalism in art came from the 1960s characterized by extreme simplicity of form. Although it can be traced back to the early 1900s and Russian artist Kasimir Malevich who created a painting of a simple black square on a white background. But the movement in terms of lifestyle and living can be linked through the ages in many cultures. Scandinavia, for instance, where modern death cleaning originated, is the home of the minimalist architectural design, furniture built with simple shapes and forms. Still, the idea of “keeping it simple” has been around for centuries, mainly stemming from spiritual beliefs. Many religious movements, including Buddhism and Christianity have encouraged shedding or denouncing possessions in exchange for spiritual enlightenment. 

So why is death cleaning not simply decluttering?

My understanding is that death cleaning goes a step further. Once you decide the things that you want to keep, you provide a kind of guidance to those who will be left behind when you die. My parents never thought once about such things. My father had a workshop full of rusted tools, dozens of jam jars full of screws, four sets of golf clubs, and even a pair of old wooden skis from his childhood tucked away in the rafters. My mother had an attic full of shoes, hundreds of old copies of Life magazine stacked on basement shelves, and enough Christmas decorations to supply Hobby Lobby. There was no guidance. Death cleaning never entered their consciousness. So, how will it now enter mine? What does this all mean to me as my wife clears the closet?

First step: Buy a “death book.”

My own death cleaning, this “extreme” decluttering if you will, is slowly commencing. It’s something I periodically do anyway, to some extent. We live in a small house. You have to so that all your “stuff “won’t eat you alive. But the “death book” is a new step forward.

It’s a simple thing, really—a binder with labeled sections where one puts the will, the passport, the bank account information, the insurance documents, all those dozens of online passwords, and maybe a keepsake or two. The book is meant to help organize an after-life. It’s a kind of cleaning, if you will. A death cleaning with sticky notes. And so, I’ve begun the process. It feels good to do, to organize, to pull together these untethered threads of a life.

And then I was given a birthday present.

My younger son had purchased a simple paperback workbook months ago, he said. He wanted to give it to me at the right time, for the right reason. And so, he chose our shared birthday, November 21. He chose this year.

“I’m so excited about this,” he said.

Dad, I Want to Hear Your Story is a fill-in-the-blank book. It is packed with dozens and dozens of questions for me to consider. Some are straightforward: Where you were born? What hospital? Why were you given your name? Others more evocative: Describe what your room looked like as a kid. Describe a typical Friday night when you were a teenager? If you could go back in time, what would you change about your early years as a grownup?

“I want to see your handwriting. I want my daughter to see your handwriting when you are gone,” my son continued, holding back a tear. “And all those questions with answers I would have never thought to ask you.”

What do you do when times are challenging and you need to find inner strength?

I lingered over that question as I read it to myself. How timely, I thought, in this current world.

How old were you when you first thought about being a father?

“And when you finish it, I want it back to give to her,” my son said, pointing to his three-year-old little girl.

How have your spiritual beliefs changed over the course of your life?

He laughed when I told him I was going to write out all my answers on my laptop first, edit them, and then handwrite them in the book.

He smiled. “Of course you will.”

The book intrigued me. And later, as I thought more about it, my wife’s closet cleaning, and what that Swedish author might be trying to tell me, I wondered if this “cleaning” had a much deeper element to it.

Swedish death cleaning cannot only be about things, only holding onto the most necessary and meaningful objects. It’s about saving pieces of a life, including, and most importantly what is in your heart, your soul, the emotions you cherish, your dreams, your losses, your joys, your regrets, your challenges, the pieces of your past that have shaped you. These are the truly important things to pass on when you are gone. Clean out what is inside the head and heart that will no longer matter when you leave this earth, and gather up only those you wish to share with the ones you love and will someday leave behind.

Maybe it’s a cliche, but what death cleaning is really about is recognizing that it’s not the things that matter, it’s the relationships and experiences. They are the essence of a life. Death cleaning, in all its forms is a chance to unburden yourself and open your heart.

Do you believe in miracles, and have you ever experienced one?

The next morning, I was alone with the notebook, sitting at the table near the window, pondering that question. A very good question, I thought. And I’m going to cherish the chance to answer it.

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David W. Berner is the author of several books of award-winning fiction and memoir. His latest, Daylight Saving Time: The power of growing older is available now. His novella, American Moon will be published by Regal House Publishing in 2026.