Angelic Intervention – saved from certain death . . .

I revist the steps where I was knocked down

Angelic Intervention – saved from certain death . . .

I knew I should never have been on the phone. Not talking and crossing a busy Dublin street at the same time. The bus hit from behind with such force that it threw me through the air and I landed on my back some ten feet away. The bus skidded to a halt, just inches from my head and the ashen faced driver got out and ran over me.

‘You okay?’

I am lying on my back unable to speak or move. I am helpless.

By now a crowd has gathered around me. Someone is calling for an ambulance. I feel stupid and embarrassed. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I get up?  I see a familiar face coming down the steps of Loreto Convent school outside of which I lie like a crushed beetle.

‘Kevin – are you okay?’ she asks as she helps me up. I once taught this girl and feel strangely comforted by her familiar face. She helps me inside the school reception, getting me a glass of water. By now my whole body is shaking and I sit feeling completely disoriented. Mortified. Embarrassed. I hear the sirens and see an ambulance arriving outside. Blue lights flashing in the morning sun.

‘It was all my fault,’ I blurt as the bus driver comes in accompanied by the medics. The bus driver looks whiter than me, ‘I nearly ran you over,’ he whispers, ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘Me to,’ says another onlooker. ‘Thank god you’re okay.’

‘I’m sorry – it’s all my fault.’

My son arrives we head to the hospital in the ambulance the siren screaming. I suddenly feel exhilarated to be alive. I am suddenly drunk on adrenaline.

Two hours later the adrenaline has passed and I am in pain. I hand over my computer bag to my son as I head off for more checks but nothing is broken.  It turns out I am actually 100% okay. My son opens the computer bag which was slung over my back when I was hit. He is looking for the keys to the office when lets out a gasp.

He fishes the computer out of the bag. It is smashed, the screen hanging off. But more scarily the solid brass office keys are bent in half.

‘Bloody hell,’ I say, as the blood drains from my face a second time that day, ‘what force was needed to do that?’ And the thought comes unbidden:  what If that had been my head . . .

And at that moment I knew something did not want me dead. I felt strangely reassured. Something had saved me from certain death. Something had been watching over me . . .

If you have your own stories please email them to me at: and I will publish them on this blog. All those who are published will receive a complimentary copy of my book: Listening to your Angels.


About Kevin Flanagan

Kevin is a journalist and writer. He edits The Sunday Independent Travel magazine and is writing a book about his time working with the legendary ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev.
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