Opening The Box

Originally published on Mary McCorvey's Substack.

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Welcome to this Sunday’s issue of Opening The Box.

Today, I touched another poem. Just a short one, but filled with the visceral reality of my relationship with Rob.

I try to remember, unsuccessfully, when we actually had a meal in a restaurant. As I recall, there were no such things. No vacation weekends. No extravagant experiences.

Just presence.Just us.

We treasured each moment together for the gift it was, never wishing to share even a breath with another living soul. Even ordering food took away heartbeats we could’ve spent in conversation. So we met quietly, bringing small offerings: flavored seltzer, a surprise treat, something handpicked and thoughtful.

When it was possible, we met at a neighborhood park — lush green grass underfoot, red maples, beech, and white pines displaying the seasons. A waterfall gurgled nearby. Sunshine — plenty of sunshine — followed us on walks. Few people gathered there, which suited us just fine.

The year we were together, we celebrated my birthday in that park.

Later, he would write this:

Was a cool shadow passingOn the lover’s waterfall that noon.Words and gifts and touches exchanged,It was over much too soon.

A birthday in the parkBeneath the October leaves.Hidden in a separate placeSafe within the trees.

Mary, I have been catapulted by you into a new existence and I hunger for it. Yet I am tied, for now. And yes I would find relief in the end of my marriage. These past several months I have pictured myself as a great divorced father.

I have rehearsed what I would say to Sam and Justin, and how hard I would work to fill their lives. I figure Deanna will just have to hate me or understand.

And I can do it! What stops me? I have fantasized more about leaving my family than I have about leaving you. I want you that much. I try not to get critical of myself for this because I know I’m exploring my options. But deep, deep down inside I know I am capable of it — and all it takes is a simple statement: ‘It’s over.’

Right now, unless I go berserk, I’m not capable of saying this — to you or to my family.

So what can we do?If you want to stay with your family, I will help.If you want to stay with me, I will help.If you want to leave me, I will help.If you want to leave your family, I will not help.

I don’t want us to end.

I don’t want us to end until one of us can’t — or won’t — do it. “It” meaning cope; maintain our balance; stay whole; find the fulfillment we had in our lives before us.

I’m discovering so many things in these letters — things that remind me of the desperation we both felt, the belief that our choices might devastate the people around us.

I’ve spoken before about Daniel, my third husband, whom I was married to for 32 years.

But in the time I was with Rob, I was married to Tim.

Tim and I had also begun in an affair. That decision had already ended his first marriage.

I know — it’s tough to keep up.

My relationship with Rob convinced me that my marriage to Tim was over. But I struggled — hard — almost entirely because of his two daughters. They were precious to me, and they had already been through one divorce. Now here I was, staring down another.

If I’m honest, I married Tim out of guilt. I knew from the start I wouldn’t be happy. But I had a demanding career, and we were anchored by time with his daughters. That was the part I loved most. It held us together for six years.

I desperately didn’t want to hurt them. And I knew I would.

So: unhappy marriage. Two stepdaughters. An affair with Rob — whose very thought sent me into ecstasy. And a challenging job.

It was, in hindsight, the emotional cocktail of a nutcase. And I was the bartender.

I don’t have any of the letters I wrote to Rob. I have no idea whether he, too, kept a box. Maybe locked, maybe hidden. Maybe long gone.

So I must rely on a faulty memory — along with all my other faults.

I don’t recall asking Rob to leave Deanna.

I knew he loved her. They were college sweethearts. She was his first. Before me, the only one. That kind of connection deserved his full decision, and I respected that. I trusted him to choose whatever was right.

I could be mistaken. Maybe I did beg. Maybe I got down on my knees and pleaded with him to leave her.

But I don’t think so. He struggled enough with himself.

All in all, it was a very confusing time — punctuated by relentless anxiety, uncertainty about the future, and tests of our own personal sanity.

Sounds like a walk in the park.

Happy Birthday.

Actually… it was a beautiful birthday. Because every moment in his company was a gift.

I’ve described a confluence of things that led to the tension — the anxiety, the grief, the hard-earned joy.

When have you experienced a set of circumstances that felt like everything was raining buckets of emotion — good or bad?

A wedding is one example. That’s why they make so many movies about them. Getting married is easy. Staying married is very, very hard.

💬 Reply to this post and let me know your story. When have you felt the emotional weather of everything at once?

As always — Finite Heartbeats. Infinite Possibilities.

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