After a life-altering injury at 13, Justin Rayner learned that success is not about what you lose — it is about how you keep moving forward.

When 13‑year‑old Justin Rayner lined up for a hockey game in Hodgeville in 2004, the night felt like any other on Saskatchewan ice. The rink was bright, the crowd small and the game steady — until a breakaway at centre ice changed everything.

“I remember taking the shot and watching where the puck went instead of where I was falling,” Rayner said. “I looked up at the last second and saw the boards. I thought, ‘This is going to hurt,’ shut my eyes and then felt nothing.”

He smashed headfirst into the boards, breaking his neck on impact. Rayner lay motionless on the ice for an hour and a half, waiting for an ambulance to arrive from Swift Current.

“I remember local kids staring at me through the glass,” he said. “It was like my head was floating on a baby’s body.”

That night would leave the young athlete a quadriplegic, forcing him to rebuild every part of his life.

For his mother, Kerry‑Ann Strohan, the memory of that night remains searing.

“What I remember most vividly is him begging and begging for water with tears streaming down his face,” Strohan said. “He kept saying, ‘Mom, please, just one sip.’ But he was not medically stable yet, and I could not give it to him. It broke my heart.”

In the months that followed, Strohan lived in survival mode, pleading with God not to take her son.

“It became my mission to help him recover physically, mentally and emotionally,” she said. “The rest of the world fell away.”

Her focus consumed her days, but she drew strength from family and friends who refused to let the pair face the journey alone.

“Our new family room became Justin’s hospital room,” she said. “We would watch movies, eat snacks, and find small pieces of normal again.”

For years, Rayner could not stand to watch the sport he once loved. The sight of the rink reignited the ache of what was lost.

“Every time I would see a game or highlights, I would feel jealous,” he said. “It took four or five years before I could even go near a rink.”

Over time, that jealousy softened to curiosity. He began watching again and found a new way to connect — scouting.

“I started scouting from home,” Rayner said. “Eventually, I landed a job in the Western Hockey League. I realized I could still chase the hockey dream, just from a different angle.”

The sport that had once broken him became a foundation for purpose and identity.

Before the accident, Rayner measured himself by his athleticism.

“After the injury, I had to accept that version of me was gone,” he said. “I had to figure out who I was outside of sport.”

Competition, however, never left.

“Now it is board games, video games or scouting,” he said. “That edge is still there.”

His understanding of success transformed.

“It is not about being rich or winning anymore,” he said. “Success to me means being happy, living with passion, giving your best effort, treating people well, forming strong connections, and being a person that you would be proud to call a friend.”

Rayner credits his recovery not only to medical care but to the people who surrounded him.

“The biggest source of strength for recovery after an injury like I had, is human connection,” he said. “The people who rally around you and are there for you in your darkest times of need really keep you motivated.”

Among those who played a key role early on was Kim Gehl, Rayner’s coach at the time of the accident. Gehl is currently in Mexico and was unavailable for an interview before publication, but he has agreed to share his reflections when he returns to Canada.

Rehabilitation has been a marathon of patience. The early milestones — breathing on his own, eating after the feeding tube, wiggling a finger — were followed by slow but steady progress.

“I started lifting two‑pound dumbbells,” Rayner said. “Now I can lift 20. Rehab is slow, but every bit of progress feels like winning a game.”

For Strohan, each day remains a balance of caregiving and motherhood.

“There is no such thing as clocking out,” she said. “But seeing Justin live independently and happy means everything.”

Her greatest pride is simple.

“He has a good life,” she said. “That’s what keeps me going.”

It took about five years for Rayner to find peace with what happened. Today, his life revolves around scouting, mentoring, and continuous self‑improvement.

“One day you wake up and realize what a gift it is to still be alive,” he said. “From then on, you make the best of it.”

If he could speak to his younger self, his message would be clear.

“Don’t worry about what people think,” he said. “Live every day fully and appreciate what you’ve got.”