Dorothy Ann Foulk, née Mitsch—known over the years as Dot, Dottie, Spot, Grammy, MomMomSpot, Aunt Dot, and probably a few other names that we’ve forgotten—passed away peacefully on May 14, 2026, at Riddle Village.

Dottie lived a long, full, and wonderfully interesting life, spending as much of it as possible in the comfort of her own home. In fact, getting Dottie to leave her house when her health began to decline was no small accomplishment. She was strong, independent, and quite accustomed to doing things her own way—which, as anyone who knew her will tell you, was usually the right way anyway.

She was well known throughout the Media area for her generosity, kindness, unmistakable friendly smile, and her complete inability to walk past another human being without striking up a conversation. Dottie could talk to anyone, anywhere, about practically anything. If you were a stranger when you encountered her, you probably weren’t one by the time the conversation ended.

Dorothy was born at the Massachusetts Osteopathic Hospital in Boston on March 1, 1932, missing becoming a leap-year baby by only a matter of minutes. This was a source of great pride and a story she never seemed to tire of telling. And, apparently, neither did the people who loved her, because they kept listening.

During her early years, Dorothy, her sister Nancy, and their mother formed a merry traveling band, moving around the country as her mother pursued her career. Dottie grew up adventurous, athletic, and independent. A varsity athlete in several sports, she graduated from Lansdowne Aldan High School in 1950.

While living in Clifton Heights, she met and married the local doctor. From 1954 until 1990, Dottie devoted herself to raising her three sons, of whom she was enormously proud. Raising three boys was no doubt good preparation for the rest of her life, although it is unclear whether the boys ever fully appreciated just how much supervision they were receiving.

As her boys grew older, Dottie began a new chapter in her life, entering the workforce in the early 1980s and building a career of her own. She brought her warmth, determination, and natural ability to connect with people to every place she worked, from Claire’s Boutiques at Granite Run Mall to Elmwood Federal on State Street in Media. Each experience led her to Old Marple Veterinary Hospital, where she became the office manager and was a valued part of the practice until her retirement in 2002.

Dottie took great pride in her work, but for her, a job was always about more than simply earning a living. She cared about the people she worked with, the families she served, and the animals who came through the doors. Her years of working were another reflection of the same qualities she brought to her family—dedication, kindness, and a willingness to give her best to whatever she took on.

Once retired, Dottie turned her attention to the truly important things in life: her grandchildren, her friends, her family, and having a good time. She loved people and people loved her. She was generous with her time, her stories, her opinions, and—when appropriate—probably a little advice. Anyone who knew Dottie would agree that she was the life of the party. She had a wonderful sense of humor, a big personality, and an ability to make an ordinary gathering feel like an event. She didn’t simply attend a party; she contributed to it.

Dottie is survived by her loving sons, Jeffrey of Romansville, PA; Kenneth of Media, PA; and Richard (Helga) of Blue Bell, PA; four grandchildren, Christopher, Daniel, Konrad, and Mara; as well as many loving nieces and nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews, and MANY, MANY friends.

Funeral services and interment will be private.

We all know that when Dottie gets to heaven, there will be a banquet waiting for her. She will arrive, take one look around, find all the people she has been missing, and immediately join the party. We suspect she will also have a few questions about the menu, an opinion about how things are being organized, and several new people to talk to.

Rest in peace, Dottie. The party will not be quite the same without you.