NMH Magazine : Winter 2003

We Miss You, Frank Doyle

Kimmy Chedel almost skipped the boat ride that would change her life. She'd just gotten back from a business trip to Europe, and the last thing she wanted to do was go on an evening cruise of New York Harbor, on what was basically a floating mixer for Bowdoin and Middlebury alumni. But her girlfriend wouldn't take no for an answer; she literally dragged Kimmy onto the boat. As it circled Manhattan, Kimmy dreamed of home and sleep. Suddenly she felt something sticky on the bottom of her shoe. It was a nametag proclaiming "My Name Is Frank Doyle." 

"Who's Frank Doyle?" she asked. 

A dark-haired man approached her and introduced himself as Frank. Kimmy forgot about her exhaustion as soon as she saw him. They had only a half hour of conversation before the cruise ended, but she already knew she'd met her match. Frank was gorgeous, athletic, funny, and he loved Canada, where she'd grown up. He'd been a hockey player at Bowdoin and at NMH, from which he'd graduated in 1981; she'd been on the alpine ski team at Middlebury. They'd both come to New York in the late 1980s and taken jobs in finance, she at Salomon Brothers, he at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods. They both had strong work ethics, had put themselves through college, and shared solid family values. 

"Do you want to come back to my apartment and talk some more?" Kimmy asked as the cruise ended. She wasn't normally so forward, but she didn't want to let go of him. 

"It's Monday night, and I really have to get home," he said with a polite smile. 

The next day, Kimmy told the people she worked with, "I've met the man of my dreams." 

They laughed, surprised. Kimmy had never told them about any romantic interest–now suddenly she was head over heels. 

She tracked down Frank's number at Keefe, Bruyette & Woods and called him after a self-imposed two-day wait. They set a date for Saturday, which led to four dates in a row and a weekend in Canada. At the end of that first week, Kimmy told Frank she loved him. Within a month, she told him, "I don't want to scare you, but you're going to marry me one day, and you're going to be the father of my children." 

He looked at her like she was crazy, but she knew she was perfectly sane. Six months later he told her, "I love you." He'd been afraid to fall in love because he'd recently come out of a relationship; although taken by Kimmy from the start, he was cautious. But when he finally spoke the words, they came straight and true from his heart. 

Frank and Kimmy were inseparable; before long, they were sharing an apartment in New York. They both loved traveling; during their time together they traveled frequently to the Caribbean and Hawaii, and went skiing in Switzerland and the Canadian Rockies. Kimmy bought a log cabin in the Laurentians, Quebec, near her parents' home, and she and Frank spent long weekends there, retreating from their hectic life in New York City. 

On a Sunday in June 1997, eight years after they met, Frank took Kimmy out on the balcony of the cabin. He held her hand as the sun danced on the nearby lake. "I have something important to ask you," he said. "I want you to be the mother of our children." 

"What do you mean? What are you saying?" 

"I want you to be my wife." He had tears in his eyes. 

Kimmy's eyes held the answer. Twelve weeks later they were married in a little church in St. Sauveur, Quebec, just a few miles from their cabin. One hundred and eighty guests came to their wedding, a spectacular weekend of bicycle trips, golfing, barbecues, laughter, and music.

Frank showed us how to be a man. He showed us how to excel at work. He showed us how to be a husband. He showed us how to be a father.
Eulogy by Chuck Mathers, Frank's close friend, December 8, 2001 

Zoë Doyle was born in November 1998. From the second Frank saw her, he fell madly in love with her. He bathed her, took her on walks, napped with her, noted every cough and smile. 

Garrett Doyle made his arrival in May 2000, five months after Frank and Kimmy moved from Manhattan to Englewood, New Jersey. They'd chosen to live in the suburbs to have more land and space for their children; Englewood was ideal because it was only 17 miles from Frank's office in the World Trade Center. 

After Zoë's birth, Kimmy gave up her job in bond sales and became a stay-at-home mom. Frank adored having a family and called home from the office throughout the day to find out what she and the kids were doing. At the end of the day, he'd call repeatedly from his car so Kimmy and the children could chart his path home. She'd bring Zoë and Garrett outside and they'd squeal when his car came down the hill. She'd lower the children through the sunroof and they'd sit in the car with their dad. 

Frank's intense drive to excel kept him on the move. At Keefe, Bruyette & Woods, he rose to executive vice president and director of equity trading. He drove himself physically as well, working out almost every day of the week. He competed on several men's-league hockey teams and began running in triathlons and road races. 

Frank dreamed of retiring in a few years so he could be a full-time, hands-on dad. Maybe in his spare time he'd take some law school classes and become a lawyer. The possibilities seemed endless.

I have been told that Frank is in a better place. I've thought a lot about that statement lately, and, well, I pray that it is true. I have never known a man who loved this place, this part of our existence, as Frank did.
Eulogy by Mark Doyle, frank's brother, December 8, 2001 

On September 11, 2001, Kimmy drove along the hills of Englewood, clocking distances for the decathlon she and Frank planned to compete in on September 15 in Canada. A bulletin came over the car radio saying that a passenger jet had flown into the north tower of the World Trade Center. Kimmy was stunned; she drove straight home and called Frank. He picked up the phone right away. 

"Frank, you've got to get out of there," she begged. "I'm watching this on TV, and it's not a small plane. It's a big plane. You've got to leave." 

He said many of his colleagues were standing by the windows, watching people in the other tower jump to their deaths. He wouldn't go to the windows. Frank told her, "Call my mom, call your mom, tell them I'm okay." 

Kimmy could hear the New York Port Authority intercom saying, "World Trade Two is secure. Stay in your offices until further notice." 

"Did you hear the message?" Frank asked. "They know this building the best. They're telling us to stay. I'll talk to you soon." 

Kimmy reluctantly said goodbye and called his mother, then her own. After she hung up, her best friend from New Jersey called. "Kimmy, Frank's building has been struck. They hit lower this time." 

"Oh my God." Kimmy called Frank, but the line was busy. She called and called without getting through. At 9:22 am, her phone rang. It was Frank. 

"Hi, sweetie," he said in a calm, strong voice. "We need your help. We've tried getting out on the roof, but the doors are locked. I'm now on the eighty- seventh floor and we're trapped. I know you know this–but I love you–I love Zoë–I love Garrett. Promise to tell them every day for the rest of their lives how much their papa loves them. Sweetie, I would love to stay on the line, but I need you to call 911. We need your help. The smoke is coming in; help must arrive soon. I love you, sweetie." 

Kimmy wished she could stay on the line with him forever. He sounded so brave, and that gave her hope. Maybe he'd find a way out of the building. Kimmy called 911, then curled in a ball on the living room sofa, holding Zoë tightly, and watched the news. As she watched in shock, the south tower of the World Trade Center collapsed into a giant, smoking pile of rubble. That was Frank's building. Frank had been in there. All Kimmy could do was scream.

God sent me an angel 12 years ago to teach me the true meaning of physical and spiritual love, to give me strength, to guide me and be my partner in bringing new life into this world. His name is Frank. But God did not tell me that my angel would only be with me for a short while.
Eulogy by Kimmy Chedel, September 29, 2001

Doctors told Kimmy a person could conceivably live without food or water for 14 days. She went into New York City day after day, going into hospitals, looking for people from Frank's firm, checking lists of survivors. As time went on, she brought in DNA samples and dental records. 

Family and close friends stayed with Kimmy to provide support. While others began holding memorial services for the missing, Kimmy couldn't bear the thought. Instead she held a celebration of life on October 6. More than 200 friends and family came to their Englewood home for a barbecue, the kind of party Frank would have loved. One by one, they took the microphone and talked about him. They drank his favorite beer, ate his favorite food, and listened to his favorite music. 

Kimmy took the children to Canada a few days later. She could no longer bear living in fear of terrorism and wanted to be near her family. On October 31, the New York City medical examiner's office contacted Kimmy to say Frank's body had been identified. She returned to Englewood to collect his ashes and brought them back to Canada. Frank's funeral was held on December 8 in St. Francis of the Birds Church, where they'd been married four years before and where Zoë and Garrett had been baptized. A few months later, Kimmy decided to sell their home in New Jersey and move back to Canada.

Kimmy, when you hear and see the wind...it's me, chasing after a puck, throwing a ball for Garrett, skiing a mountain with Zoë.
Prayer by Josi Chedel, frank's mother-in-law, September 15, 2001 

Kimmy and her children have made their home in Ste. Adele, where they live in Chateau Doyle–the name Kimmy gave the cabin after Frank's death. She stays positive for the kids, who give her a reason to keep going. They are all so connected; on days when she's sad, the children are sad too. Financially, Frank looked out for them. Kimmy doesn't have to go back to work; she can be a full-time mother for as long as Zoë and Garrett need her. 

Every morning, as soon as they wake up, Kimmy and the children go to their kitchen and light Frank's candle. They've lit his candle every day since September 12, 2001. Surrounding it are several photos of Frank, a miniature American flag, a photo of the twin towers, and a rock Zoë painted showing her dad on the moon. On the outside of the house hangs a banner saying, "God Bless America–We Miss You, Frank Doyle." Frank's mother brought it from Michigan right after September 11, and Kimmy doesn't feel ready to take it down. 

Family and friends visit most weekends to keep their spirits up. Everyone who walks into the house gets teary-eyed at the sight of Garrett, who's the spitting image of his father and has his energy, athleticism, and sense of humor. Before guests arrive, Zoë always asks, "Did they know my papa? Did they love my papa?" 

Sometimes Zoë tells Kimmy she wants a new papa. "Mommy, you'll always feel Papa. He'll always be in our hearts. But little girls need papas." Her words invariably make Kimmy weep. She can't imagine ever again feeling the kind of love she felt for Frank. 

On the one-year anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, Kimmy and the children went to the cemetery where Frank was buried and planted an apple tree at his grave. Kimmy read a prayer describing how Zoë could feel his presence in the sun's warmth, his energy in the wind. Afterward they came back to the house and sat in the glass-walled room that had been Frank's favorite. She told Frank's friend Dave about the prayer; as she spoke, the sun pierced through the rain clouds and a sudden gust of wind rushed past the house. 

Kimmy talks to Frank every day, in quiet moments, while going for a walk or driving the car. In her head, she endlessly replays his final phone call to her. She is putting together a video of his life for the children, and had quilts made for them out of his clothes so they could wrap themselves in the things he loved. She commissioned 350 "Team Frank" T-shirts and sent them to friends and family. In return, they send photos of themselves in the T-shirts, climbing the Alps, horseback riding in Montana, running the Baltimore marathon. 

She does not want anybody to ever forget him.

I see my daddy outside hiding in the trees and flying next to the car. 
Zoë Doyle

Frank was standing right in front of her. He looked as handsome as the day she met him, his smile the epitome of Irish charm. 

"Frank, we miss you," Kimmy said. "Where have you been?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You died at the World Trade Center," she told him. 

"I didn't die." 

"What do you mean, you didn't die? Frank, we buried you." 

"Did you see me?" he asked. 

"No, I didn't see you." 

"It wasn't me," Frank told her. "I didn't die." 

"Where have you been?" Kimmy asked. "We cry every night–we miss you desperately." 

Frank shook his head. "I don't know where I am." 

Kimmy woke up confused, not sure where reality began or ended, but grateful to have seen Frank. The dreams came often, and she always felt happy afterward, as if she'd spent the night with him. In one dream he'd explained he was watching her and the children every day, feeling so proud of them. During quiet moments, she could feel that pride and love flowing into her, merging with her own.

Please make life a better place, be more humane, kinder, and take time to smell the roses. God bless and keep these valiant soldiers who made life a better place for their loved ones.
Prayer by Josi Chedel, September 2001


By Mary Seymour