Even death couldn't keep this couple apart
A wife dies 90 minutes after her husband.
By Andrew Meacham, Times Staff Writer
Published March 4, 2008
CLEARWATER - Bill Caswell told his family he was ready to die. He only had one reason to hold on.
"I wish Mom would go, so then I could let go," he told his stepson, Steve Peterson.
Mr. Caswell, 83, had not seen his wife for six weeks. Miriam Caswell, 87, who suffered from dementia, bedsores and other ailments, had entered a Clearwater nursing home in November.
Since then, Mr. Caswell's health had declined. He had bone cancer and entered Morton Plant Hospital in January.
On Friday, dozens of relatives took turns saying goodbye to a man who, until now, had seemed indestructible, the survivor of 10 heart surgeries, the one who never admitted defeat. They steeled themselves against the inevitable.
Then at 4:45 p.m., Peterson's cell phone rang. An ambulance was bringing Ms. Caswell to the hospital.
Mr. Caswell's vital signs were holding, so Peterson, 65, and his sister, Vicki Starek, 57, headed to the emergency room next door.
"We'll just see what's wrong with her," Peterson told the group of relatives and friends. "And we'll be right back."
***
In 1949, Miriam Peterson was a young widow, waiting tables at Lakeland's Reececliff Restaurant. Her husband had died in a car accident, and she was looking after their son, Steve.
Then one day Mr. Caswell, an ex-Navy sailor, sat down at one of her tables for the first time. Before she handed him the check that day, he told her that he would marry her.
Six months later, his prediction came true.
She was taller than him and more reserved. He had 15 siblings; she had one. He liked to play dice and poker; she played Scrabble and read books by Pearl S. Buck.
They built a two-bedroom house in Clearwater. She worked for his painting company, which got the contracts to paint the Clearwater Police Department and Tampa Stadium.
They danced to big band music at the National Guard Armory. They picked strawberries in Plant City and made strawberry pie. They took car trips to visit her relatives in Wisconsin.
He was a tenor and she sang alto. Both sang well, their family said. They harmonized to old-time favorites - Danny Boy, Just a Closer Walk With Thee, Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree.
Like most married couples, they had their differences.
She bristled that Mr. Caswell never lost his youthful swagger. His mouth would get him in trouble at Snyder's Bar, but he escaped it, unlike some of his friends.
"He was the guy who was brash and bold, but then smart enough to step back when necessary," Peterson said.
They reveled in family. On Sundays, Mr. Caswell made breakfast for his grandchildren. Each week, he changed the color of the grits.
Mr. Caswell won a goat in a contest. They kept it in the back yard until the goat gored Ms. Caswell in the hand. Mr. Caswell liked to tease Ms. Caswell and pinch her bottom.
Even as his pain worsened, Mr. Caswell talked often about his wife. He had cared for her, picked her up when she had fallen, emptied her catheter. Now someone else was doing that job.
It had been hard for him to accept.
***
In the emergency room, Peterson knew immediately that his mother was in bad shape. She was pale and unconscious.
Ms. Caswell's living will forbade breathing tubes. There would be no emergency surgery.
"The options weren't good," Peterson said.
He got out his phone. The entire delegation next door - about 40 people, most of them Mr. Caswell's relatives - walked to the Morton Plant emergency room.
One by one, family and friends said goodbye.
Starek remembered that her mother was smiling Thursday night in the nursing home. For the first time in weeks, she mentioned Mr. Caswell's name several times.
"The last thing she said was, 'Tell Daddy I love him,'" Starek said.
A chaplain led the group in prayer. At 9:18 p.m., by Peterson's watch, hospital staff disconnected Ms. Caswell's breathing tube. The group left the room, planning to return to the rehab center to rejoin Mr. Caswell.
At 9:20 p.m., Peterson's phone rang. It was a friend at the rehab center. Mr. Caswell had just died.
Peterson could utter only one word.
"Wow."
Ms. Caswell continued to breathe on her own until 10:55 p.m. Then she, too, died.
The Caswells, inseparable for 58 years, had died within an hour and a half of each other, from different causes, in the same hospital.
Starek doesn't believe it was a coincidence.
"I'm fully convinced my dad called my mom and said, 'Let's go.'"
Andrew Meacham can be reached at ameacham@sptimes.com or 813 661-2431.
Biographies:
William B. Caswell, Miriam L.G. Caswell
Born: Jan. 5, 1925 (Mr. Caswell), Aug. 27, 1920 (Ms. Caswell)
Died: Feb. 29, 2008
Survivors: A son, Steve Peterson (Patricia), and daughter, Vicki Starek (George); Mr. Caswell's brothers: Joseph, Mack, Jack; his sisters: Helen, Joni, Virginia, Joanne, Mary Ellen, Mardell, Tutti and Gladys; Ms. Caswell's sister, Beverly Joy Droog; six grandchildren, 11 great-grandchildren, four great-great-grandchildren.
Services: 1 p.m. today (visitation from noon to 1 p.m.), Moss Feaster Funeral Home, 693 Belcher Road, Clearwater.