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. AND I’ll get one more chance when mom either expires, or leaves her Rest Home for a last-stop in skilled nursing.

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.

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. 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.

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. 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. And since he and his deceased wife were childless, that generated an even stronger sense of attachment and responsibility to their unclaimed possessions. See: More boxes in the basement, and an eclectic assortment of antiques sprinkled amid our modern decor.

Enter Ms. Magnusson’s refreshing call to declutter “sooner than later, before others have to do it for you.”

From 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.”

And 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…. We must keep investigating: cleaning, organizing, and sorting!”

And 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. 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).”

And that’s when I recognized the no-nonsense practicality, confident assertions, and effortless home-making of my pridefully Swedish mother-in-law and sisters. In retrospect I realize my MIL has been Death Cleaning for years, sending boxes of misc. 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.

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. You can use it to keep yourself from burdening others, or to generate conversations and action in those who don’t want to burden you. And when you’re done, you can reward yourself with the three recipes she threw in the back of the book. Who WOULDN’T want to whip up some pickled Rosehip Marmalade, Red Beet Sherry, or Bohulslän Cheesecake (which is to be eaten with pickled herring or smoked salmon). Um … yum.

In my own Death Cleaning, I’m already using Magnusson's technique of labeling stored items as “throw away” or “look at one time, then discard.” This ensures those left behind don’t have to go through the painful psychological process of assigning value to items they have never seen before, and deciding whether they “need” to keep them.

But by FAR my favorite section, tucked halfway through the book and officially the longest title, is “IF IT WAS YOUR SECRET, THEN KEEP IT THAT WAY (OR HOW TO DEATH CLEAN HIDDEN, DANGEROUS, AND SECRET THINGS).”

What follows is a delightful and judgment-free acknowledgement of hypothetical items that may have been intentionally tucked away, or forgetfully left behind, and then discovered by others. Like … cartons of cigarettes … and empty gin and whiskey bottles … or Grandfather’s ladies’ underwear … and Grandma’s dildo. “There’s no sense in saving things that will shock or upset your family after you are gone,” Magnusson sagely advises.

But not before proclaiming, “Save your favorite dildo — but throw away the other fifteen!"

Yours truly,

Irreverent Rachel