I was browsing in a recycled clothing shop recently when I started talking to a woman who was holidaying in Melbourne. She wanted my opinion on a brightly coloured jacket she was eyeing. Laughing because I was in my usual uniform of whatever black clothes were clean, I told her it looked great and urged her to buy it. But she wavered, admitting that although she’d begun hunting out more unusual clothes since retirement, she was also in the process of shedding her belongings.

I’d heard about “Swedish death cleaning” from friends whose parents were downsizing in anticipation of what they’d leave behind, and I blurted out the fact that my father had died suddenly, and my brother and I were in the painful process of cleaning out his house. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to reveal my loss, but as I talked, a sting of tears threatened.

The woman obviously noticed because she stopped flicking through a rack of skirts to give me her full attention. In a gravelly voice she explained that before she’d retired, she’d worked for many years as a psychologist, helping families deal with death. Her job had often involved mediation between fighting siblings, because even those who were close struggled........

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