“I don’t know where to start.”  

This is a common phrase we collectors see all too often in posts made to online collector groups, Facebook marketplace, eBay or other outlets. A collector has died. A loved one, still reeling from the loss of their grandfather, uncle, mother, or other family member, is now tasked with selling off a collection of diecasts. Their loved one was an avid collector, they say, but funeral bills are piling up, the deceased’s home is being sold, or they simply don’t have the desire or means to keep the collection.  

Now this person, who knows nothing of NASCAR diecast collecting, is charged with selling off a bevy of cars. How do they identify each diecast? When where they made? How do you list them for sale and where? How much are they worth? They just don’t know where to start.  

It seems not a week goes by in which one of these posts can’t be found, a mourning person reaching out to strangers for help after the death of a diecast collector.  

These calls for assistance, and potential sales, elicit a strange amalgamation of emotions for us collectors.   

Sometimes the collection is a plethora of mass-produced Racing Champions 1/64s from the mid-90s. Those that still have their blister packaging have been worn by being in a plastic tote for years while a great many are loose. We have to tell this grieving person the bad news. Yes, your grandfather had — the past tense adding a sting to the reply — a vast collection, and he undoubtedly loved it. Unfortunately, his diecasts are practically worthless. Maybe just hand them out to some neighbor kids, comes the suggestion.  

Or, maybe this person’s stepfather has some gems. He had a notebook or spreadsheet outlining each of his 1/24s, and there are some highly sought-after cars now hitting the proverbial auction block. This person doesn’t know that Jeff Gordon 2006 Sonoma win is worth a pretty penny. Do we send out a lowball offer for it to score a deal on the back of someone else’s misfortune? Maybe we reconcile with ourselves that it’s better their stepfather’s cars go to another avid collector versus this valuable diecast ending up in some trash heap or battered within some kid’s toybox.  

Regardless, these kinds of posts serve as a morbid reminder to us all that once we die, our collections are likely to become a burden on our bereaved family members. Let’s face it, our collections are unlikely to be viewed on our passing as some great heirloom. Personally, I can’t think of anyone I know who would want to keep my collection after my obituary has been published. The posts we see often underscores this is the case for most collectors. A burden it becomes.  

So what will happen to our diecasts when we die?  

Some may hope their family will hang on to them. We practically have a bond with these bits of metal and plastic. It’s what made us collectors in the first place. But our loved ones don’t share this sentiment.  

Thinking of our collection post-mortem makes us want to downsize our collection so that it isn’t such a hassle. But denying yourself something that gives you pleasure just because of what will happen to it after you die? That’s not living, is it?  

Do we sell our diecasts off in our twilight years? Maybe. But that would be coming to terms with our own mortality, and most of us aren’t too keen on that kind of thing. And keeping a loved one’s collection after they pass serves as a constant reminder to those left behind of their own impermanence, another motivator to sell.  

Ultimately, I hope my collection is sold once I’m gone and that it catches a fair, reasonable price. Then I want my loved ones to take the money they earned from this activity I loved, collecting diecasts, and use it to fund something they enjoy. The sale of my collection will hopefully bring satisfaction to my diecasts’ new owners, and in turn, bring my family joy by financing their own hobbies. This way the legacy of a diecast collection is not in the cars, rather, it’s in finding something that brings you happiness.  

This may be wishful thinking, but at least it’s somewhere to start.