Thomas Carlyle married his secretary whom he dearly loved. She was the “apple of his eye” and a soul-mate. However, he had other soul-mates that absorbed his interests and stole his time — business, self-interests, and the constant push for success and status.
The day came when she was told that her illness would end her life prematurely. The doctor gave no date or time and only said, “your illness is fatal, no cure.” Mrs. Carlyle went to bed and remained there until she died.
After the funeral, Carlyle went back to an empty house. It was not the same. He wandered upstairs, downstairs; grieving and lost. “If only I had spent more time with her and less with business,” he thought as he wept. The illness had been long and painful, and she suffered alone.
One day, he sat down on her bed hoping to feel her presence. Noticing her diary, Carlyle opened it. Thumbing through it, he found this passage, “Yesterday, he spent an hour with me. And it was like being in heaven. I love him so much.” Turning a few more pages, he found these words: ” I listened all day to hear his steps in the hallway. And now it’s late. I guess he will not come to see me.”
He could take it no more. Throwing the book half-way across the room, Carlyle ran to the cemetery and fell on his wife’s grave sobbing, beating the ground, and shouting, “If only I had known . . . . if only I had known.”
The only question that remains, “Is all the money, all the status, all the things that money can buy worth the cost of a family or a significant other that loves you dearly?”