By my bed sits a journal that I use to archive everything I can think to remember about my precious baby: his favorite words and phrases, the cute little things he used to do, how he ordered his Chipotle rice bowl.
Every few days, sometimes every few weeks, the list grows by an added, new precious memory.
It’s often surprising what will trigger a memory of my son. Even more surprising is how often I find one of our more commonplace interactions have failed to make their mark in my journal.
I’m not sure why…
Except maybe it’s because it wasn’t a memory in the same way my brain catalogues a funny story or silly moment. So many of these “memories” weren’t special, isolated instances, but rather our regular mom-and-kid offerings that were the fabric of our daily life.
There wasn’t a time with Tanner that we could pass a Hot Wheels stand without buying one. It took $.97 cents to make him squeal with joy and grin from ear to ear. It was the best dollars I’ve ever spent.
So now, when I pass a Hot Wheels stand and see a new hot car that I know would bring a smile to my boy’s face, I buy it. I have to.
To what end? I don’t know. I just know that today this little dollar purchase gives this momma’s heart a brief instance of peace to do something for her angel; someday, in some way, I know they will bring smiles to other little boys and Hot-Wheels-Loving girls.
Which brings me to this past weekend when I was out of town and couldn’t pass up one of the hottest yellow Lamborghinis I’ve ever seen. It had to join his collection, and it did.
Later that day, as my new treasure sat on the hotel counter, a friend picked it up and read the bold script on the side: “Lamborghini.” Instantly I was transported back to one of our regular special times together… I hadn’t thought of this since he passed, but in the very moment my friend read the name, I heard Tanner in his quiet, inquisitive, seeking voice…
“Da say?”
He would hold a car in his hand, usually turned on its top so we could view the stamp on the undercarriage, and squint his eyes as if trying to read the model. His cute little finger would point… “Da say?”
What does it say, mom?
“Lamborghini, baby. It’s a Lamborghini.”
“Oh! Ga-ghini! Cool!”
“Da say?” as he pulled another Hot Wheel out of his pocket.
“Mustang. It’s a Mustang.”
“Oh, Tuh-tang! Cool!”
And we would often go through 20, 30, 70… 100 cars — my baby offering me a chance to read to him, me happily providing a unique descriptor that set each car apart in his perfect little mind. And with every car, he was fascinated with the name and offered gratitude for the time taken to share it.
The ways I got to love him were so pure, so simple.
If only all love was so easy.
I’ve walked the halls of my home this past week and see Hot Wheels everywhere: they’re on my wall, in my purse, in a display case by my bed and still constantly appear out of nowhere as if some little Angel is hiding them for me to find.
And every time, I now see him, grinning, inquiring, with his outstretched hand showing me a Hot Wheel as that precious voice asks, “Da say?”
Tonight, I will be getting out his tub of Hot Wheels and reading aloud every single one.
Baby, if you can hear me, if you’re watching, stick around… Mom-mom’s gonna tell you what they say. 
