Thomas Carlyle lived from 1795 until 1881.  He was a Scot essayist and
historian.  During his lifetime he became one of the world's greatest
writers. But he was a human and humans make mistakes.

On October 17, 1826, Carlyle married his secretary Jane Welsh.  She was an
intelligent, attractive and somewhat temperamental daughter of a well-to-do
doctor.  They had their quarrels and misunderstandings, but still loved each
other dearly.

After their marriage, Jane continued to serve as his secretary.  After
several years of marriage, Jane became ill.  Being a hard worker, Carlyle
became so absorbed in his writings that he let Jane continue working for
several weeks after she became ill.  She had cancer, and it was one of the
slow growing kind.  Finally, she became confined to her bed.

Although Carlyle loved her dearly, he very seldom found time to stay with
her long.  He was busy with his work.  When Jane died they carried her to
the cemetery for the service. The day was a miserable day.  It was raining
hard and the mud was deep.

Following the funeral Carlyle went back to his home.  He was taking it
pretty hard.  He went up the stairs to Jane's room and sat down in the chair
next to her bed.  He sat there thinking about how little time he had spent
with her and wishing so much he had a chance to do it differently.

Noticing her diary on a table beside the bed, he picked it up and began to
read in it.  Suddenly he seemed shocked.  He saw it.  There, on one page,
she had written a single line. "Yesterday he spent an hour with me and it
was like heaven; I love him so."

Something dawned on him that he had not noticed before.  He had been too
busy to notice that he meant so much to her.  He thought of all the times he
had gone about his work without thinking about and noticing her. Then
Carlyle turned the page in the diary.  There he noticed written some words
that broke his heart.  "I have listened all day to hear his steps in the
hall, but now it is late and I guess he won't come today."

Carlyle read a little more in the book. Then he threw it down and ran out of
the house.  Some of his friends found him at the grave, his face buried in
the mud.  His eyes were red from weeping.  Tears continued to roll down his
cheeks.  He kept repeating over and over again, "If I had only known, if I
had only known." But it was too late for Carlyle.  She was dead.

After Jane's death, Carlyle made little attempt to write again.  The
historian said he lived another 15 years, "Weary, bored and a partial
recluse."

Today is the only day you have to relate to those whom you love.  And if the
rest of the day shall be yours, only God knows.  Therefore, reach out and
love and accept love from those whom you count as special.