Emma Grace,
I've been thinking about you, especially with our Fourth of July family reunion this weekend in upstate New York. Your entire paternal family will be together on the lake—grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and generations of people who knew your dad and loved him.
There will be an empty place where you should be, and you'll be missed.
You're 18 now. You're an adult. That means you get to start asking the hard questions for yourself instead of simply accepting everything you've been told growing up.
Examine your own heart.
Ask yourself: Why was I separated from my father's entire family when I was only 8 years old just weeks after my dad passed away? Why was that relationship never encouraged? Why was I never given the opportunity to know the people who loved my dad and who have loved me all these years?
Ask yourself another difficult question: Why would a child who lost her father also lose his last name? What does it say when a child's connection to her own father is replaced after he's gone? Is that really about protecting a child—or about something else?
Your dad was one of the smartest, most discerning people I've ever known. He had incredible street smarts. He knew how to read people, ask questions, and look beneath the surface. Somewhere in you, that same ability exists. It's part of your heritage too. You carry Foege DNA—that comes with strength, intelligence, and a legacy worth knowing.
Real street smarts mean keeping your eyes open, thinking critically, listening carefully, and having the courage to seek truth—even when it's uncomfortable. Don't be afraid to ask questions. Don't be afraid to hear different perspectives. And don't ever believe you have to choose comfort over truth.
Your father loved you beyond words. Anyone who knew Todd knew that you were the center of his world.
The Bible says, "Test everything; hold fast to what is good." That has always been wise counsel. Have the courage to examine what you've been told, to seek truth for yourself, and to decide what you believe based on your own heart and your own experience.
Just know this: we're here.
When you're ready, come get to know your father's family for yourself. Ask the questions. Listen to the stories. Compare what you've heard with what you discover. We aren't afraid of the truth, and we have nothing to hide.
The door has always been open. The next step is yours, and when you're ready, we'll be here - but do it before Grammie transitions, will ya? Stick a fire under it, kid.
Love always,
Auntie DDé - #305-796-8819
Well-known Naples man dies suddenly, leaves behind legacy
Todd Foege with his daughter, Emma Grace, in back, and his two nephews, Zan and Taj, in an undated photo provided by his family.
Before anyone could predict who Todd Foege would be, he knew.
In the sixth grade, he told his teacher he wanted to be a child psychologist. On the playground, he’d break up fights, or mediate arguments between other kids — he’d do anything to help, his mom, Maripat Kline said, because that’s who he was.
His title never became psychologist, but his mission stayed the same from that sixth grade day on: He helped kids.
He was a teacher and confidant for at-risk kids, a pillar of hope for disadvantaged people and a mouthpiece for poor families in Collier County.
Todd Foege, who was 37, died suddenly from cardiac arrest in his Naples home July 2.
Foege was a well-known executive in Naples, often called the “dot connector,” by colleagues for his ability to make things happen, bring people together and organize non-profit organizations and programs for children in Collier County.
“The older he got, the more determined he was to do the right thing for people,” his mother said. “It was so common sense for him to make a decision to do something right, even when it wasn’t for someone else.”
To everyone he knew, Foege was the man who made things happen.
He began his career at the Learning Connection of Naples, and then, with the Naples Children and Education Foundation, he spearheaded three initiatives for children’s mental, oral and visual health.
He connected the dots again to help create the NCEF Pediatric Dental Center at Florida SouthWestern State College in East Naples, a place where disadvantaged children can receive dental care.
“It was injustice he hated,” said his sister, Jody Foege. “He didn’t want there to be injustice for anybody because it was just so unfair — and then he saw these children (in Collier County) and was just enveloped in this mission to just help them. Even when people see injustices, they don’t know what do about it, and he made a business out of it.”
His passion to help people — especially children — wasn’t just professional; it twined itself into his personal life.
He was the man who delivered self-bought Christmas presents in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve to a family that would have gone without; the man who, in his early 20s, cut off his hair and donated it to Locks of Love; and the man with his daughter’s name tattooed on one side of his body, and his nephews’ names on the other.
But mostly, he was the man who was a symbol of something better.
“Todd gave people the gift of hope,” said Kathryn Hunter, CEO of the National Alliance on Mental Illness, who worked closely with Foege on the creation of the Health Under Guided Systems program (H.U.G.S).
“Todd brought hope to families and he made them feel important,” she said. “He had that extra step of respect for everyone.”
The only thing more important than his work was his 7-year-old daughter Emma Grace Foege, who was embedded in every aspect of his life. His consulting group —EGF Consulting Group — mirrored his daughter’s initials. The back of his business card is a photo of her eyes.
“It was all about her,” his sister Dama Foege said.
“She is his girl and his one and only,” Jody Foege agreed. “She’s on an entirely different pedestal.”
For those who knew him best, he was the father who loved his daughter above all else. He was Uncle T. He was the neighborhood grill master and the man with a boundless collection of ties and converse shoes.
“He lived deeply and passionately,” said Jody Foege. “Everything he did was filled with his energy.”
