My son had a high school teacher he adored. His name was Mr. Infinity.
At the end of every class, my son would take his talking Buzz Lightyear toy out of his backpack. He’d press the button again and again until he found the right phrase.
“To infinity… and beyond!”
While Buzz cycled through catchphrases, Mr. Infinity would wait patiently at the front of the room with the biggest grin on his face. And when the toy finally delivered the line, Mr. Infinity would clap and cheer as though he’d been waiting all day for that moment.
Maybe he had.
About a year ago, Mr. Infinity died unexpectedly.
He was that teacher. The one who saw kids. The one who changed lives quietly and consistently. When he died, the entire community was shaken.
My son went quiet. He is autistic and has a cognitive disability, and he doesn’t fully understand what it means to die. What he understood was this: he would never see Mr. Infinity again.
From that day forward, he stopped playing with Buzz Lightyear. The toy stood on the shelf above his desk. Silent.
Until a couple of months ago.
My son and I were on a flight to Europe. The plane lifted off on a grey Toronto afternoon and climbed higher and higher until we burst through the clouds into brilliant sunshine.
My son pressed his face to the window.
“Look,” he said. “It’s heaven.” Followed quickly by, “Mr. Infinity’s there.”
And then he did something that nearly undid me.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out Buzz Lightyear — the toy I had assumed was still sitting untouched on his shelf at home. He held Buzz up to the airplane window and pressed the button.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until finally —
“To infinity… and beyond!”
My son smiled softly. He tucked Buzz into the seat pocket in front of him and gazed out at the endless white clouds.
For him, this wasn’t just a plane ride.
It was a chance to show his favourite toy to his favourite teacher.
It was his way of saying goodbye.
And in that moment, I was reminded that travel isn’t just about destinations.
Sometimes, it’s about closure. Sometimes, it’s about memory.
Sometimes, it’s about love that travels with us — to infinity and beyond.