Morbid as it may sound, there have been times when I actively imagined what it would be like to lose-and I mean permanently- someone I loved. When I did, truth be told, the reality was never even close to what I had imagined, but it did somehow give me a mild sense of control over my emotions at least. So, if I intellectually prepared for their death, I would be better able to cope with it when it happened. That thinking forced me to stay present and deliberately recognize that person’s value while they were living. It didn’t help the hurt when they left, but I was grateful that I was fully with them while they were with me. Loss is not a moment one simply prepares for, addresses and then recovers from instantly.
Loss lingers, changes, and limps along until you find a place for it to rest and then forever remain a part of you. But there is something about death that you can prepare for which will make not only your remaining time here feel freer but prevent those who survive you from having to dismantle your life whilst mourning its loss.
The author Ann Patchett wrote about the practice of preparing for death-in a good way- in a New Yorker Magazine article she wrote after the death of Kent, the father of her dear friend, Tavia. About how they were saddled with the cumbersome, many months long, not to mention emotionally debilitating act of sorting through the impossibly vast amount of “stuff” Kent had acquired in life and then left behind in death. Patchett likened it to an “archeological dig.”
To put it into perspective, at one point the man collected 30 power strips and so many Tibetan singing bowls that when Tavia came to visit him, there was nowhere for her to sleep as her old bedroom had been converted into a holding cell for a life-long obsession with consumerism.
“Holding hands in the parking lot,” wrote Patchett, “Tavia and I swore a quiet oath: we would not do this to anyone. We would not leave the contents of our lives for someone else to sort through, because who would that mythical sorter be, anyway? My stepchildren? Her niece? Neither of us had children of our own. Could we assume that our husbands would make order out of what we left behind? According to the actuarial tables, we would outlive them.”
Patchett’s problem hits close to home as I have a very lovely mother who, like Kent, has never understood the fine art of “one in, one out.” She is wholly incapable of parting with, well, anything.
“Mom,” I have pleaded many times, “you are never going to wear those 2 dozen tee shirts (40 years old now) again, so can we just give them away?
“I might wear them,” she’ll say brightly.
The woman wears a ski parka over her wool sweaters even in summer so there’s no chance she will ever wear a skimpy tee shirt. But I digress.
In my mother’s house, I have found sales receipts that are 50 years old -like she could ever return those mini dresses now; a half dozen, identical wooden spoons; hugely expired soup cans; high heels she has not worn in 20 years and at 95 would prove disastrous if she were ever to try them on again; as well as decorating magazines from five houses ago and doggie dishes belonging to our dear pet, Lola, who has not needed them for many months as she, sadly, passed almost two years ago.
Mom is a product of the Great Depression and I can only surmise that is the genesis of her reluctance to give up any of her treasures fearing potential food and houseware shortages sometime in the future. Her robust purchasing power has lessened with the passing years but not so her steely grip on every item she has amassed so far.
“I can’t find my tray,” she said the other day, more of an accusation than an observation.
“Which one of the dozen you have are you referring to?” I replied.
I have finally had to enlist the assistance of friends and family to stealthily dispose of unuseful items to simply make room for necessities. There’s nothing convenient about this process. I’d like to just throw away some of the stuff but Mom actually goes through the trash regularly hoping to retrieve, perhaps, used ribbons from any number of Christmas or birthday gifts she has received. So, now, and only after dark, drop offs to GOODWILL have become part of our family’s itinerary.
“Mom, you know we are just going to throw everything out in 20 years when you are no longer here?”
She just looks at me with defiance in her eyes.
“Do you really want to leave us with all this stuff?” I ask.
Still, no response.
If you are worrying that my meddling may be found out. Don’t be. Mom has steadfastly refused to learn how to use any machine that requires the internet (perhaps because she is so busy standing guard over her possessions) so there is no chance she will log on and read this affectionate ode to her.
After experiencing the enormous task of disposing of Kent’s belongings Patchett made a decision. To prepare for her own death. It was not unlike me trying to prepare for loss by imagining it in advance. But Patchett’s plan goes one step further. She decided to take bold action and relieve her heirs of the joyless task of post death clean ups by looking for a brand new, EMPTY house.
“Maybe by moving I could force myself to contend with all the boxed-up stuff in my own closets,” she writes.
But, alas, she preferred the home she already lived in.
“I wonder if we could just pretend to move, I said to Karl that night over dinner,” writes Patchett. “Would that be possible? Go through everything we own and then stay where we are?” she asked.
“I could have said, I wonder if we could just pretend to die.”
But she felt gruesome at the thought, so said, instead,
“Could we at least prepare? Wasn’t that what Kent had failed to do? “
So the culling of her house began.
“This was the practice:” writes Patchett. “I was starting to get rid of my possessions, at least the useless ones, because possessions stood between me and death. They didn’t protect me from death, but they created a barrier in my understanding, like layers of bubble wrap, so that instead of thinking about what was coming and the beauty that was here now I was thinking about the piles of shiny trinkets I’d accumulated. I had begun the journey of digging out.”
This process of “digging out” has become the wintertime practice of a dear friend of mine who was inspired by a book on the topic entitled, THE GENTLE ART OF SWEDISH DEATH CLEANING.
“It is amazing,” my friend told me as she began the death cleaning of her own closets.
“I keep asking myself, ‘what am I saving this for?’”
So she donated a third of her wardrobe to another friend who was so excited to receive the windfall she routinely walks by her house and shrieks,”You gave me this!”
Death Cleaning, which in Swedish is döstädning, meaning Do and Death is not only a favor you are bestowing upon your survivors, but also a gift you are giving yourself.
“Multiple studies link clutter with stress and decreased productivity,” writes Sarah DiGiulio of NBC. “One study that analyzed how 60 women described their home environments found that those who considered their spaces more cluttered, unfinished, and less restful had consistently higher levels of the stress hormone cortisol and worse moods over the course of a day compared with women who described their homes as being more restorative.”
Even AI recommends the happiness Death Cleaning can produce..
“Yes, decluttering is good for you, offering significant mental, emotional, and even financial benefits. It can reduce stress, improve focus and productivity, boost your sense of accomplishment and self-esteem, and lead to a more serene state of mind. “
Who can ignore that kind of endorsement???
I promptly recruited my Swedish Death Cleaning co-hort to leave her newly minimalized home and enter into mine to make suggestions about what I did and did not need. (Sometimes you cannot see the forest for the trees yourself). We have begun in the bedroom where the results have made for a much improved, luxurious space. The whole process is like Marie Kondo (the Japanese organizational whizard) on steroids.
Now, I am no minimalist. I love glamorous, gorgeous homes and have always thought two pairs of fantastic shoes are always better than one. But I am becoming a fan of culling. Clearing out. De cluttering. Making more space to live in. Or, at least, creating a better system to find things. Simply, living more intentionally.
Internationally recognized organizational expert Barbara Hemphill further boosts the incentive for tidying up with her belief that a messy house reflects a messy mind which can be easily remedied by just taking action.
“Clutter is nothing more than postponed decisions.”
So, decision number one? Just start. With a drawer, a closet or the trunk of your car. It’s a long term project so don’t rush it. Savor the transformation and the accomplishment.
Aviator and author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry perhaps should have the final say on the rewards of a well culled life.
“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
Burning Daylight 