Has anyone ever rescued me, figuratively or literally?

I don’t know if I can put a name or face on someone who’s rescued me, but perhaps one event was when I was probably eight years old, and we went to the beach or down to the ocean someplace with one of my brother Mudd’s friends. I think his name was Daniel Bla], and I was out in the bay, not very far from shore, but the water was over my head, and I didn’t know how to swim, and I was on a paddle board or a surfboard of some kind. And I remember slipping off and going down into the water and then pushing myself up, and I went up and down a couple of times. And I remember Daniel’s father pulling me out.
Once, when I was about 19, I was driving down the San Diego freeway at 65 plus miles an hour in the fast lane with a bunch of friends in the car, young adults, and right in front of me in the number two lane, two cars collided and they were spinning into my lane, and I was able to move over into the shoulder and miss the whole accident. I think I was rescued at that time.
Tyler was rescued, his life was saved by somebody acting quickly to pull them out of the water when they had fallen into the swimming pool. That was Tyler when he was about 18 months old. The 10-year-old girl pulled him out of the pool, and they revived him, and he was fine.
Heather was rescued from pneumonia. Rachel was rescued from appendicitis. Both of those events were rescues as a result of priests of blessings and the Lord being with them. Perhaps you can say I was rescued at the time that Ryan was murdered by not being overwhelmed with anger and grief and wanting revenge and getting consumed with a desire to find out who did that terrible thing to take his life, and my rescue was being able to keep going without falling apart.