The death of a spouse prompts so many changes and so much confusion that life can resemble the old group game “Fruit Basket Upset.” The game proceeds in a gently rambunctious manner until someone calls out, “Fruit basket upset!” At that, every person in the circle of chairs has to leap out of their seat and try to find a different chair before there are none left unoccupied.

The death of a family member is much like that, especially in the case of a spouse/parent. During a marriage, life bops along with lots going on, husband, wife and family members running here and there, meeting commitments and following to-do lists. Then suddenly the husband/father dies and it’s like the crash of “fruits” in the middle of the circle, people feeling shoved and pushed in their attempts to scramble to a “new chair.” In “Fruit Basket Upset,” this kind of chaos is fun. In life, not so much.

This morning after waking up and staring at the ceiling for a while, I got up and turned around to make the bed. Then it occurred to me that it didn’t really matter whether I made it or not. Who would care? No one was going to see it but me.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, fighting the temptation to lie back down. The first thing that popped into my head was a picture of Nate turning down his side of the bed at night time, just before climbing in. It was a good moment of every day, no matter what had happened between leaving the bed early in the morning and returning to it later that night. And he loved the idea of pulling back the covers. It was as if everything had been properly prepared for this appealing moment.

Now, of course, things are different. He won’t be turning back the covers, and I didn’t really care if the bed was made or not. Climbing into bed used to be an “ahhh” moment of relaxation and peace. Now it’s a time when the world has gone dark, the night stretches long and I miss Nate being where he always used to be. It feels like I’m in the middle of a “Fruit Basket” circle after all the places have been taken, wondering where to turn next and what steps to take.

Although we’re left without our usual, familiar places in life, none of us has really lost the game. We haven’t been eliminated as a chair-less game player would be from “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s just that Nate’s death has necessitated writing new rules of play, and we’re trying to walk away from the “upset” part. We’d rather play a different game anyway… like, say, “Candyland”.

“Candyland” has greater appeal than “Fruit Basket Upset.” It’s a peaceful game that leaves strategy up to the game-makers rather than the game players. And the truth is, Nate has actually won it already. He’s by-passed the negatives of Molasses Swamp and Cherry Pitfall, not just to reach Candyland’s Home Sweet Home but to arrive at a whole new kingdom where the sweetest home imaginable awaited him. And there aren’t any beds to make either, because there is no night there.

As a matter of fact, this new home is “delicious” in every way, surpassing Gumdrop Mountain and Lollipop Woods by such a long shot that it’s not even on the game board.

“The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom.” (2 Timothy 4:18)