Withers Without You

Some things you read just smack you like plank of wood in a comedy sketch, here’s mine from today:

The great Scottish writer Thomas Carlyle married his secretary, Jane Welsh. She kept working for him but when she got ill, Carlyle, who was devoted to his work, didn't really notice. But she had cancer and was eventually confined to bed. Although Carlyle loved her, he found that he didn't have much time to give attention to give to her. Then she died. After the funeral Carlyle found Jane's diary and began to read it.On one page she'd written a single line: 'Yesterday he spent an hour with me and it was like heaven: I love him so much.' A reality he'd somehow been too blind to see now revealed itself with crushing clarity. He'd been too busy to notice how much he meant to Jane. He thought of all the times he'd been preoccupied with his work and failed to notice her. He hadn't seen her suffering. He hadn't seen her love. Turning the page, he read words he'd never forget: 'I've listened all day to hear his steps in the hall, but now it's late, he won't come today.' Thomas was devastated. Later, friends found him at the side of her grave, covered with mud. His eyes were red from weeping, 'If only I'd known, if only I'd known,' he cried. After Jane's death, Carlyle made little attempt to write again. Nothing is more important than love. Is there anyone you need to spend time with today?