Home Entertainment Game Technology Advertisement Part 2: For eight years, my parents made me leave the house every time my brother brought his fiance over; Mom said, “She comes from a good family, don’t embarrass us”; Dad added, “Just disappear for the weekend”; I did; then one weekend, I never came back; it took them four years to find out where I went.

Not:

avoiding embarrassment.

Fraud.

Forgery.

Theft.

False death record.

Restitution.

My legal existence had to be repaired too.

That process was almost comically insulting.

I sat before a judge while an attorney proved I was alive.

I wanted to stand and say:

Would you like me to cough?

Instead, Mara submitted records.

Tax filings.

Driver's license history.

Medical records after my “death.”

Employment.

Business ownership.

The court vacated the false death entry and ordered corrections through county vital records.

I received a new certified birth record with no death notation attached.

I held it in the courthouse hallway and cried.

Not because the paper made me alive.

Because it stopped the government from agreeing with my parents that I wasn't.

Then Grandma's estate.

The false predeceased-beneficiary affidavit was set aside.

The eighteen acres returned to me.

Mitch relinquished any claim.

A title company issued corrected documents.

Ruth came with me the first day I legally walked the land.