The owner of the shelter did her best but was unable to meet the compliance standards to keep her facility open. All of the tenants had to leave and they didn't have much time. The stress of having to find another place to live overwhelmed mother as her health continued to decline. My two older brothers hadn't changed their minds, they wouldn't make room for her in their homes. I called my younger brother and asked him once more to take her in. I told him I would do my best to convince her to move to Atlanta with me, but she needed a place to stay right away. He told me he needed to speak with his wife first and would let me know. I wasn't hopeful. Street codes had prevented them from seeing eye to eye.
My brother's wife had a sorted past that was all too familiar. Like mother, she had been a prostitute turned housewife and mother wanted better for her baby boy. Initially, I didn't understand why mother wasn't more empathetic to her until my twin brother told me the difference between a bottom bitch and a basic hoe. Let me see if I can explain this. Although both are prostitutes, a bottom bitch is the pimp's best worker. Her street game is similar to the pimps and requires less management. A basic hoe walks the track/blade and fears not making her daily quota. She is seen as beneath the bottom bitch. Before mother became ill, the reminder of their rankings was expressed without words whenever these two women were in the same room. My brother was in the middle as the son, the husband, and as his wife's pimp.
So needless to say, mother was not welcomed with open arms. Brother put all of their pasts behind him and moved her in. The accommodations were meant to make it clear that her stay was temporary and out of pity. They put her in a space the size of a washroom and excluded her from all family functions. She wasn't included in their meal times, so she survived largely on canned soup and crackers. She didn't have any money to offer, so she tried to make herself useful by washing clothes and cleaning the house, but everything she did was met with contentment. One day she called me crying, which was a regular occurrence when living there. She had sorted the clothes to prepare to wash them and my brother became angry and started yelling at her. His wife had gone to him and said, "Your mother needs to leave. She has my underwear spread out on the floor. Why is she touching my things!"
After picking up the clothes she went back to her room to stay out of the way. My brother came in and said, "Look, you need to go live with Shannon in Atlanta. She is the only one that wants you in her house." Mother was heartbroken. This was her baby boy. Arguably, her most loved child and he was making it clear that she wasn't wanted there. Her will to live was fading.
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