Jack Randall Biggs June 9, 1947-May 18, 2017
For years, I referred to him here as "SSS," short for "Son of a Siberian Sasquatch." His real name was Jack Randall Biggs. "Jack" for his father and "Randall" for his dad's army buddy. Everyone knew him as "Randy."
He was a slick sum bitch when we met, and I was a vulnerable potential victim. You know the type...nice car, nice clothes, superficially really pretty awesome. Great dancer, knows his cocktails, plays guitar...Mom and Dad liked him.
He turned out to be abusive in that subtle way that you can't quite put your finger on, but one day you realize you are not the same person you were, and not in a good way. Gaslighting, they call it.
At some point, maybe 25 years ago, he dragged his alcoholic self to a 12-step program, and called me up, wanting to apologize. I let him come over and say his (generic) piece, and then tried to tell him some of the specifics. I figured that, if he was going to apologize, he might as well know what he had done. He maintained that he didn't remember any of it. I guess, after years and years of 12 beers a day and half a bottle of Jack, he probably didn't. It didn't help that he appeared to think I was making it all up. So not satisfying...
We had been separated for so long that it was a bit of a shock when Jim proposed and I realized that I was still legally married. Tried for a do-it-yourself d-i-v-o-r-c-e, but, even then, when we had been apart as long as we were together, he had to throw a spanner in the works and counter-sue for the return of all the court-mandated child support he had been forced to pay. He actually got a lawyer who was willing to sign off on a letter saying I had "misappropriated family funds" (i.e., child support).
So yeah...I really don't know how I feel about this.
Relieved, mostly, I guess, but sad for what could have been.