Opening The Box

Originally published on Mary McCorvey's Substack.

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How can it be possible for two people to be apart for 35 years, not having seen each other, not even spoken, and may never again, yet still feel the love as deeply as if having spent every moment together? How can one be so convinced?

What made me decide to open this locked box of letters from Rob after so long? I only know the feeling I had. The dawning conviction that the moment had come. That it was time to call the locksmith.

Every day since has led me back to that box. I feel the weight of it in my hands. The chill of the metal. The muscle memory of lifting the lid. I close my eyes and reach in— to hold what he wrote, to touch what he touched.

I could say I’m rediscovering a long-lost love, but that’s not true.

I have loved Rob all along.

Tonight, I withdrew a letter from Virginia.

A sleepy rumpled blanket enclosed you

As I watched you dream and stir.

Who knows this woman Mary,

I’ve spent some time with her.

Such wonderment I choose to bestow on you

To break through and fly

And float for a time in our solitude

In a separate place, you and I

When I came to you at the mirror you were busy putting curlers in your hair all around your beet red face. When I said, “We’re going home, Mary,” you turned, no words, rushed into my open arms. We hugged and cried.

What a picture we would have made for all those who know how strong and cold and in control we are.

As I felt you I felt I was holding onto myself and I could feel our pain.

As you slept the night before I held you for a time close and strong, and imagined I could draw all the hurt from you but I couldn’t; try as I might.

Those 20 some hours together were feeling hours without barriers, they were so, so good, they were so, so, right…they were so, so frightening.

As time passed, our physical visits became more difficult. Our love had grown into something beyond words. Beyond anything we could explain to the people around us, if ever we had tried.

With every passing day it became clearer that something was happening that was much bigger than a mere tryst or an affair or an all-out sea change of life.

I believe he was expressing fear – so, so, good, so, so right, so, so frightening, because what was between us went so far beyond those things as to make them irrelevant.

Rob and I must have talked about being “just friends”—a platonic relationship—as if that were even possible. As if our spouses could accept it. As if we could.

Because here's the truth: infidelity isn’t always physical. Sometimes, it’s having this kind of feeling—this depth of love—outside your marriage. And while I’ve had a happy marriage with Daniel, at least for a time, I know that even a “platonic” version of Rob and me would have needed explaining. And if no explanation could be found, then even a happy marriage would feel threatened.

Rob and I tried to process our love like humans do. We defaulted to the physical because it was the only thing we understood. But what was happening between us was so much more.

Thirty-five years later, I can tell you: whatever “it” was—let’s call it love—it’s just as strong now. Maybe even stronger.

I’ve tried to think of a human experience to compare it to. The birth of a child? Or perhaps the end of a life?

I once stood at the bedside of a friend who was dying. I watched his face soften, watched something shift in him. Was he seeing a tunnel of light? People he loved? The universe? He didn’t look frightened. In fact, he looked... amazed. We told him we loved him. We told him his life had meaning. And then, as we all do, he let go.

I’m not trying to sound philosophical. I’m no scholar. But I do think what Rob and I experienced had the kind of layered joy and pain that philosophers have been writing about forever. There was something deeply human and deeply beyond human in our connection. Something that felt, each time, like both birth and death.

And in between... there were the letters.

What About You?

Have you ever experienced a connection like this—one that defied explanation? One that stayed with you, despite time and silence? I’d love to hear from you. Please write to me.

Next time, I’ll begin something new.

I don’t have the letters I wrote to Rob. But I still feel the same way I did 35 years ago. I believe he does, too. So I’ll write to him and respond to his letters—from here. From now on, I’m doing this for me. A gift of ethereal connection.

What will I say?

I don’t know.

Come find out with me—on Opening the Box.

And always 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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