the gentle art of swedish death cleaning book review

If you don’t have the luck of Swedish genes, Magnusson’s book is an effective mix of how-to, why-to, and what might happen if you don’t. from the family’s travels, each item labeled with its history and meaning for my husband to appreciate, and then mange as he’d like. In retrospect I realize my MIL has been Death Cleaning for years, sending boxes of misc. Still, I know families who live in a complete mess (I won’t mention the names of my children here, but you know who you are).”Īnd that’s when I recognized the no-nonsense practicality, confident assertions, and effortless home-making of my pridefully Swedish mother-in-law and sisters. We must keep investigating: cleaning, organizing, and sorting!”Īnd in her pointed assessment of others: “In a home where you have been living for some time, it should be easy to keep some order. Magnusson’s refreshing call to declutter “sooner than later, before others have to do it for you.”įrom the last line of the Forward, there was something FAMILIAR about her directive and stark statements about the choices her readers were facing: “Let me help make your loved one’s memories of you nice - instead of AWFUL.”Īnd something familiar in a self-admonishment to get back to work, after she had a tangent about a favorite jacket: “But this is not a style manual…. See: More boxes in the basement, and an eclectic assortment of antiques sprinkled amid our modern decor.Įnter Ms. And since he and his deceased wife were childless, that generated an even stronger sense of attachment and responsibility to their unclaimed possessions. As his Executrix, I was beyond grateful for being spared the long-distance management of an estate and house sale, but there were still countless drawers and closets and basement corners to purge. My father-figure had the good fortune of contracting the post-death purchase of his beloved custom-built home (and everything in it) to a saintly couple who then managed a village of caregivers that allowed him to die in his own bed. Those meaningful pieces are now being stored for multiple family members in plastic bins and dresser drawers that take up ANOTHER third of our basement. In the case of my husband’s Dad, we were purging post-funeral and pre-condo foreclosure, so there was a delightfully oppressive mix of grief, strife, and stress in the air, and a strong desire to preserve furniture and art gathered from all over the world.

The result is a tower of secondhand-smoke-smelling boxes that contain photos, tchotchke, and memorabilia from two generations on both sides of the family, and fills one third of our basement. AND I’ll get one more chance when mom either expires, or leaves her Rest Home for a last-stop in skilled nursing. In my parents’ case I got to do their Death Cleaning three times: Once when we moved them out of their house into separate apartments, and twice when my father moved into a nursing home and my mother moved back to the northeast.

The gentle art of swedish death cleaning book review