Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

I absolutely love that. The first time I ever heard it was during a conversation with my daughter about I-don’t-remember-what . . . but it was definitely something extremely annoying and definitely something out of her control.  She exited bookkeeping, turned around and came back through the door, looked at me, and uttered those wonderful words.  Not my circus.  Not my monkeys.

Oh, the applications in which that observation is appropriate—only I’m usually turning it around, at least in my head. Not YOUR circus.  Not YOUR monkeys.  In other words, the questions you are asking are none of your business and you’re old enough to know that.  Or no, you aren’t the one in charge of the funeral arrangements because you aren’t the legal next-of-kin, so you need to sit down and be quiet.

But sometimes, the converse is true. It is your circus and they are your monkeys.  Sadly, it seems that more and more families are at odds with one another, unwilling to compromise or even speak to each other, a state of affairs that makes holding an arrangement conference very difficult if not impossible.  Or, worse yet, their relationship with the one who has died is so strained—or nonexistent—that they refuse to accept the responsibility of making those arrangements at all.  Actually, the laws of the State of Tennessee don’t refer to it as a responsibility.  In their legislative wisdom, they called it a “right”.

That word implies so much. I have the right to tell my loved one good-bye.  I have the right to determine how that farewell will be conducted.  I have the right to make the decisions that will be required.  It is something I have been given, not through any effort of my own, but by virtue of the position I occupy.  I am the spouse or the child or the sibling . . . I am the closest family member that person had . . . the one who should have loved them the most.  Instead, too many times the person or persons granted that right by law adopts the not my circus, not my monkeys philosophy, sometimes even going so far as to deny their kinship to the one who has died.  And that’s the saddest thing of all where rights are concerned.  They just don’t seem to carry the same weight as responsibilities.

So when no one claims the circus and no one wants to take care of the monkeys, what happens?  I can’t speak for everywhere, but I can tell you what happens in Tennessee.  There’s a list we have to go through and extended periods of time we have to wait before we can move to the next person on the list.  And the very last option on that list is the most depressing:  “any other person willing to assume the responsibilities to act and arrange the final disposition of the decedent’s remains“.  In other words, it is entirely possible when someone’s life comes to an end that a total stranger will eventually be entrusted with disposing of their body.

I have often told my children I hope I never make them so mad that they refuse to bury me when the time comes. So far, I think they’re still willing to take ownership of the circus and the monkeys, although some days that might be questionable.  But not everyone is that fortunate.  If you know of someone—or you are someone—whose circus will someday be unattended, please talk to us now.  There are steps that can be taken to avoid becoming another tally mark in the unclaimed human remains column.   And please don’t adopt the “I’ll be dead so I won’t care” mentality.  Right now, it’s still your circus and you owe it to yourself to care of the monkeys.

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