Opening The Box
- Mary McCorvey
- Jun 27, 2025
- 5 min read
Originally published on Mary McCorvey's Substack.
For the first time in 35 years, I will lay pen to paper – or fingers to keys – and write to Rob.
I don’t know, yet, what I will say. I trust that it will come, as it always did before.
Tonight, when I opened The Box, I touched a notebook, and drew it out. It was black hardboard, about five by nine inches, with what looked like, perhaps, about 50 pages. Inside were lines and lines of his writing, sometimes in black ink, other times in blue. I paged through without reading, knowing I’d stop at some point. About halfway through the journal, the ink turned to red, and I stopped. He wrote:
I always think of what you’re doing and what lays in store. Thank you for your letter from Little Italy.
I saw you so clearly as you wrote to me, felt the sunshine and watched a lone lady near the window write and sip wine and write. The fading sun highlighted the silver in her black hair. What is this beautiful woman writing? Can she really be content to sit alone and lazily dream and scratch?
I could never interrupt such a vision, Mary. I would sit a few tables away and feel the serenity of a deep knowing, and feel there must be so much more beneath. I yearn for a pen and paper but of course would never ask her, for she’d think it was a come on - would it be, no. For truly I would not want to interrupt you.
I am very happy to know you, Mary.
I love you, Mary.
I sit here now, shaking my head in disbelief. I made the decision to write to Rob today, and I opened his journal to a letter he wrote describing exactly that. It’s as if he’s somehow speaking to me from the past, encouraging me to write. Such things happened so often when we were together.
But now? All these years later?
What shall I say? How to begin?
(This is me, taking a deep breath…)
Dear Rob, I would say I miss you, but you are with me. I would say I love you, because I do. And you know that. I am so grateful to you for writing all those letters to me. Over the years, I’ve kept them in a locked box, because I knew the power you have in transforming me into…me. Not power over me, power with me. I wish that the last 35 years have been good for you. That you lived in peace and love with your family, and kept me close in your heart. I know you still love me, Rob. I have felt it all these years. I have been with you every day, as you have been with me. I have felt you physically as if you were reaching out to me across the miles, wherever we may have been at any given time.
So often, so many places, I have searched for you. Once, on a train maybe 10 years ago, I thought I heard your voice. It electrified me. I was so disappointed that it wasn’t you. I moved to another car, so I could sit quietly and think of you.
How grateful I am for the gift of you in my life, Rob. You would think I’d like to tell you myself, and oh, how I would. But you know. You’ve known all along.
I’ve made a big decision, Rob, to do this – to open my heart of hearts to people I do not know, to give them a glimpse of who I am and who you are – what we share together, to this day. It’s scary. My life since you has been pretty much an open book, with lots of information online and in publications. I’m not famous or anything, I just do the professional things that other people do in the 21st Century. I’m just a regular person, and I like it that way.
I am in Philadelphia, where I have lived for many years, almost since we last saw each other. I like the city, and my daughter Angela is here. Daniel and I divorced after 32 years of marriage. It was hard, but I’m okay. My resilience has been tested, but I’m strong enough to have done what I had not done since I locked that box of your letters, cards and photographs. I opened it, Rob. And what joy I’ve found inside.
I cry sometimes, but they are tears of grateful joy. How humble I feel that you and I were given such a gift. A treasure of a year’s synchronicity.
I have a photograph of you in the park by the waterfall. It is framed on my desk, so I can look at you as I write. You look happy, Rob.
You might ask why I am sharing our special story with hopefully, many people. I am certain that you would never have expected it, nor did I, for sure. But when I opened The Box, the love that flowed out toward me was so generous, so kind, so beautiful. I just felt like if other people could experience even a sliver of it, I might enable someone to have a new perspective on their own lives. It’s not a lofty goal, it’s just a thought.
These words have flowed from me just as our writings on paper did many years ago. Not edited, not second-guessed. Just written.
If you should ever read this and want to write back, please, please find a way. I know our feelings for each other haven’t changed, but our actions have. We are more mature, and our love has withstood the test of time. We need not hurt anyone.
I’ve talked with my family about what I am doing in Opening The Box. They are quizzical, but they know me and love me. I worry about Angela, who grew up with her father and me in a happy marriage. It will feel odd for her to know that deep in my heart, you were always with me. She will be fine. That’s what parents do, worry. You know that yourself.
I will write to you again soon. I want to share with you a bit of my life and how much you’ve been a part of it. I have the letters you wrote from the past, and what an inspiration they are to write to you again. They are all in the Box. I think you’ll love this. I open the lid with my eyes closed, reach inside and find you. Tonight I found the passage you just heard read by someone who is kind enough to voice your words. It feels odd, but comforting to hear your words aloud.
I love you, Rob.Always Yours,Mary
And there is my first letter to Rob in 35 years. I wasn’t sure if I’d be overcome with emotion, or cry, or erase everything and not write at all. But I find that I’m smiling. Glancing at his picture on my desk. Knowing that somehow, someway, we are connected.
I want to write to him about my life, and share what our Opening The Box readers are sending to me.
Thank you for spending your precious time with me.Until next time, remember, Heartbeats are Finite. Possibilities are Infinite.
Thank you for enjoying this issue of Opening The Box. It's an honor to share my treasure with you. Please become a subscriber...I sincerely welcome paid subscribers, but a subscription is free. Paid subscribers will unlock bonus letters, stories from readers and listeners, behind-the-scenes reflections, and the insider's journey behind the romance of a lifetime. Every subscription helps me keep The Box open. With gratitude, Mary
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