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The following was submitted by Kendra Winner, Aidan McElhinney’s mother:
It’s been a year since my son, Aidan McElhinney, suffered a traumatic brain injury at just 18 years old when a patch of black ice caused the car he was driving to skid and crash.
Since that devastating day, I’ve come to understand something I thought I already knew: the importance of community.
Whether through close friends, compassionate strangers, or the tireless work of medical professionals, the connections I’ve relied on outside our family have been a lifeline — they have kept me standing and often enable me to put one foot in front of the other.
Aidan has always been the kind of person who brings people together. His tight circle of childhood friends would share more than laughs — they talked about things that matter, from everyday kid stuff to personal struggles. It was a space built on trust and acceptance, one where boundaries were respected, and vulnerability was met with kindness.
In many ways, Aidan’s ability to create meaningful connections reflects the values I’ve tried to instill in him since he and his sister were toddlers. Those values are also what sustained me when my world turned upside down.
Twenty-four years ago, I was a West-Coast transplant and a full-time working mom raising my children in Winchester; balancing a career in research and education with Mommy and Me music classes.
From clothing drives at school to organizing cocktail parties for class parents, I connected with many wonderful neighbors. When Aidan’s father was diagnosed with cancer years ago, that same community rallied around us, offering support in ways I’ll never forget. And when a house fire in March of 2023 forced us to move to an apartment in Arlington, people showed up yet again, ready to help in any way they could.
But nothing could have prepared me for the outpouring we received after Dec. 20, 2023. The night the accident happened, two of Aidan’s friends and one of their fathers were with me in the ER as Aidan was rushed into surgery.
In the weeks that followed, as he racked up 10 surgeries and remained in surgical intensive care, I was never alone. People donated hotel points so I could stay close by. Others organized a meal train for my family and even started a GoFundMe campaign.
At one point, I looked around and realized there were 20 people crowded into the waiting room, just to be there for us.
It’s overwhelming to witness how much your child is loved. After the accident, one young man who had struggled with learning challenges when he had attended grade school with Aidan wrote to me, “I don’t know if I was Adain’s best friend, but he was mine.” Those words gutted me, not only because they revealed the depth of
Aidan’s friendships but because they reminded me of the impact he’s had on others.
Aidan has always been kind and sensitive, particularly with kids who faced challenges such as learning disabilities and mental health issues. Knowing he has drawn so many people to him fills me with pride and gratitude.
Still, every day is now a challenge filled with small victories and heartbreaking setbacks. The surgeries, the medical decisions, and the sheer weight of responsibilities — guardianship paperwork, MassHealth insurance, brain injury waivers, and managing his medical care — all feel insurmountable at times.
My instinct has always been to do everything myself, but I quickly learned that wasn’t sustainable. Asking for help felt uncomfortable at first, but over time, I realized it was less a sign of weakness than a way to honor the people who wanted to support us.
My friend group text chain responds with a flurry of questions, suggestions, and encouragement every time there are new challenges to be faced. Each act of kindness reminds me that I don’t have to carry this alone.
Lahey, Mass General, Spaulding Cambridge, and Spaulding Charlestown have been our second homes, and the medical team members have been an extension of our community. Nurses who have cared for Aidan with compassion and expertise are now part of the tapestry of people who have made this journey bearable. Friends have even brought food for the nursing staff, a small gesture of appreciation for the incredible care they’ve provided.
This experience has deepened my relationship with Aidan’s sister, not only through our mutual love but through honest, difficult, and painful conversations.
I’ve learned to let go of things that used to seem so important. Every day, I’m reminded of what truly matters: love, resilience, and the people who show up for you when you need them most.
If there’s one thing I’ve taken from this journey, it’s that community is not just a safety net — it’s a source of strength and hope. It’s the nurse who stays late to comfort you and your child, the friends who organize a GoFundMe, the neighbor who drops off dinner, and the stranger who sends a card. These connections, no matter how small, create a web of support that holds you up when the weight of the world feels unbearable.
I don’t know what the future holds for Aidan or for our family, but I do know this: we wouldn’t be standing without the people who have walked this road with us.
They’ve shown me that community isn’t just something you create — it’s something you nurture, rely on, and, in life’s most challenging moments, it reflects the love you’ve given back to you.
For that, I am profoundly grateful.
