Making moves … even when you’re Stage 4

Several years ago, after the popularity of a certain magical joy-sparking decluttering phenomenon, I came across a different method, Swedish Death Cleaning. While I see how holding your items and seeing if they make you happy can work for some, I was still left with too many things.

Editor’s note: A mother, Cindy Eastman, and her adult daughter, Annie Musso, talk through the daughter’s Stage 4 cancer together. This is the third part of an occasional series.

Annie: Several years ago, after the popularity of a certain magical joysparking decluttering phenomenon, I came across a different method, Swedish Death Cleaning. While I see how holding your items and seeing if they make you happy can work for some, I was still left with too many things. Apparently, a lot of my belongings make me happy. But the general idea behind Swedish Death Cleaning was to not leave a bunch of crap for your family to have to deal with when you are gone (I may be paraphrasing). At the time, this idea helped me and how I looked at my stuff.

Cindy: No, you’re not paraphrasing. I just did a bunch of research on this for a presentation and that’s exactly right. One purpose of the method is not only to relieve your family of actual belongings to dispose of, but to start the sometimes difficult end-of-life conversations that go along with it. When I was doing this research, it brought up a lot of those issues for me. For example — I used to look at all the things I “inherited” — grandma’s ceramic deviled egg platter or great-grandma’s handmade quilt and think, “I’ll save it for Annie …” Not to mention all of my things that I don’t want to make a decision about! Now I don’t know what to do with it. I confess, I am finding it very difficult to deal with it.

Annie: I joked with a friend shortly after I was diagnosed and asked, “Is this because I was doing Swedish Death Cleaning??” The answer, of course, is no. You don’t get cancer because of a cleaning method. But this approach did keep entering my mind these past few weeks as I prepared for a move. We sold our house and downsized to an apartment to simplify for a bit. We all say: “It’s temporary. We’ll find another great house when the market settles.” But there continues to be a little voice in my head that says, “but what if it’s your last house?”

Cindy: I feel like the biggest struggle right now, besides my child having cancer, is the two realities I have to live in: the present and the future. I am all for living in the present and celebrating the small wins that come our way — the clear MRI scans, the absence of chemo side effects, but things like that — is this her last house? I can’t always clear those thoughts away easily.

Annie: I try to reframe it and consider that my previous house could have been my last house. Or the house before that. And look — now I’m in a cozy new place. Any place could be “our last” because we never know what will happen. I try to resist using cliches, but there is some real truth to them sometimes. I don’t know why it takes a close call with death or a stage 4 diagnosis or some other terrible thing to get us to value the things we should or to look at our lives in a certain way — I don’t make the rules! But it does. So now, knowing what we do, of course this could be my last house. And I need to, and want to, go through my things.

Cindy: Since I am mostly Swedish, I should be able to embrace this philosophy better. It’s still hard. I have an incurable inclination to look at the future. But I have to say, after the whole move (for which I was unexpectedly out of town — it was NOT on purpose!) I got a really good feeling about the place you’re in now — both physically and emotionally. That little house feels safe and cozy; your unbelievably positive attitude is fortifying and contagious. For all of us.

Annie: I am Swedish (partly) and I am cleaning (sorta). I am not dead or dying … but maybe dancing with death. So without trying to be too macabre, I will go forward with my Swedish Death Cleaning. It really is a helpful way to look at the things you are packing away in a box. Would my family be delighted to find these treasures or be exhausted by another package of junk? Will this small pin from a funky restaurant that I went to one time on vacation be cherished or will there be another eye roll and then it’s tossed into the garbage? These are the questions I need to ask myself ! But as I cull through papers and pictures and mementos, the idea of just a couple of small-ish boxes filled with really special items feels — special. Oh, and maybe a treasure map.

Cindy: If you have a treasure map and it’s in a box somewhere, I’ll totally go through your crap.

Contributed photo Cindy Eastman and her daughter, Annie Musso.