Five years ago, I wrote a post about how my discovery of Swedish death cleaning backfired when I told my parents about it. I thought it would inspire them to start cleaning out their home as a way to spare me and my sister from that chore after they pass. Instead, they’ve used it as an opportunity to continuously send decades-old crap my way. But the joke’s on them — I donate or toss most of it because (a) I’m not overly nostalgic and (b) clutter raises my anxiety and I don’t have time for that.
Well, the the joke is back on me. Five years have passed, and my parents’ house is still filled to the rafters with stuff that I call junk and they call memories.
I guess I only have myself to blame. When I pushed back on being the recipient of their purges, their solution was to stop purging, rather than donate to the Salvation Army or some other organization. (To be fair, they did get rid of some stuff, but not enough.)
And now they are five years older. At nearly 80 and 81, the task is even more daunting and overwhelming for them, which means it’s time to bring in the big guns … Me.
On Friday, I drove to Vermont to help my oldest set up his dorm room and start his junior year of college. Then, I drove to my parents’ house on Long Island, where I still am and will be for a few more days (if I last that long) in order to really make a dent in the ‘cleaning out’ process.
Being back in my childhood home for more than an overnight stay is not without its challenges. I’ll write more about that next week, I’m sure, but for now, I need to get back to the task at hand …
In the meantime, please reread my original Swedish death cleaning post from 2018 and send prayers — for both my parents and me. I’m not sure who’ll crack first!
— LJDT
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