The Privilege of Swedish Death Cleaning: Lessons from My Sister

The morning after my sister found out her cancer came back, she cleaned out her closet. Out went the boots she bought when she was single and living in New York, along with the clothing from high school she’d held onto for years. Once she was done with her own space, she marched into her kids’ closets and did the same.

To some, that might seem shocking - but to me, it made perfect sense. Of the many things my sister taught me, one of the most meaningful (and ironic)  was about Swedish death cleaning.

Proof that I am not being hyperbolic. The picture my sister sent us after she did her closet edit - post remission diagnosis.

If you aren’t familiar with death cleaning, or Döstädning, it’s a Swedish practice where people set their affairs in order before they pass. For some, this means going through physical belongings and donating or discarding what no longer serves a purpose. For others, it’s about organizing papers, updating wills, or streamlining bank accounts. The goal is simple: to avoid leaving behind an overwhelming burden for loved ones.

In America, we often treat death as taboo - as if talking about it makes it more real. But avoiding something hard only makes it scarier. Death is painful and heartbreaking, but it’s also inevitable. It is not a failure or a punishment - it’s simply part of the cycle of life.

While death cleaning is often associated with the elderly, it’s just as important for the young. Having gone through this process with my sister, I’ve come to see it as a privilege: the chance to prepare and bring order, even in the face of loss.

My sister didn’t begin death cleaning the day after her prognosis - it started years earlier, after her cancer diagnosis. I remember visiting her just after her first surgery. True to form, she wanted to organize. We began in the playroom and the storage room, where shelves overflowed with family photos, kids’ art projects, and outgrown clothes. That first visit wasn’t about letting go-it was simply about putting things in their rightful place.

Later visits became harder. When it became clear she wouldn’t be able to have more children, we tackled the 20+ boxes of kids’ clothes. We donated and sold much of it, but carefully set aside sentimental pieces - her baby wrap, her daughter’s first birthday dress - so her children would have tangible reminders of their childhood. We labeled the box clearly: “Kids’ Mementos – Clothing.” That way, no matter where life took them, they’d know what mattered.

We also sorted through boxes of her own memories. Some things were easy to part with, like old paystubs from a toxic job. Others we held onto - like the letters she wrote from Israel, which captured her wit, warmth, and humor.

This is what I mean when I say death cleaning is a privilege. For me, it meant regular visits filled with laughter, tears, and meaningful time with my sister. For her, it meant making sure her family wouldn’t be weighed down by unnecessary clutter on top of grief. While it couldn’t ease the heartbreak of losing a wife and mother, it did remove one small layer of burden.

For those of us not staring death in the face, death cleaning may sound distant, but the truth is, the best way to prepare is to begin now. Regularly clearing out what no longer serves us prevents a lifetime of accumulation. It ensures that when the time does come - whether at the end of a long life or unexpectedly - our loved ones are left with memories, not mess.