My parents lived to be ninety-three and ninety-four. Mother lived longer and kept her mental sharpness until a few days before she died. Dad suffered from dementia probably for the last six months of his life. It's hard to say how long because his dear wife knew how to cover his forgetfulness or sometimes strange behavior up for him. There were times, however, when mother became totally frustrated with the changes she saw taking place and she would blame him for doing things on purpose just to make her angry. He loved juicy fruit gum, but she kept it hidden from sight and rationed it because he could chew five or six sticks in an hour and ask for another package. "I have to watch him like a hawk." she said. Even though they lived in an assisted-living facility, my father would not bathe himself and would not let any staff person help him. So mother adjusted his shower temperature, washed his back, brought him a dry towel, and helped him dress. With her heart failure and the need for oxygen full time, this chore wore her out, both physically and emotionally. Then he started getting up in the middle of night. He would go into their bathroom, which was actually a part of their bedroom, turn on all the lights, and shave. Mother could not convince him to return to bed until he finished. As a result, mother couldn't get enough sleep at night. I don't have any answers that might have made their last months together any easier. Since they were very private people, sometimes it was hard to know what was really going on. When I stopped by their place, mother would talk nonstop as usual and daddy would smile a lot, like what he used to do. I took along food they enjoyed to them, like smoothies or milkshakes. Mother lovedorchids and they thrived under her care so she usually received one for any special occasion. Daddy would often let me brush his "angel hair", as mother named it, and I might help her fasten jewelry. All of these little things were ways to say "I love you", but we didn't often discuss some of  the truly important issues related to my daddy's declining health. I tried to respect their privacy and treat them with the dignity they deserved. I think they both tried to protect me, their daughter. I guess that's what parents do. What can we conclude after reading the passage?
The writer's family isn't filled with love. It's not easy to care for someone with dementia. It's hard to say the writer cares about her parents. The writer knows how to make others' lives easier.
Question: My parents lived to be ninety-three and ninety-four. Mother lived longer and kept her mental sharpness until a few days before she died. Dad suffered from dementia probably for the last six months of his life. It's hard to say how long because his dear wife knew how to cover his forgetfulness or sometimes strange behavior up for him. There were times, however, when mother became totally frustrated with the changes she saw taking place and she would blame him for doing things on purpose just to make her angry. He loved juicy fruit gum, but she kept it hidden from sight and rationed it because he could chew five or six sticks in an hour and ask for another package. "I have to watch him like a hawk." she said. Even though they lived in an assisted-living facility, my father would not bathe himself and would not let any staff person help him. So mother adjusted his shower temperature, washed his back, brought him a dry towel, and helped him dress. With her heart failure and the need for oxygen full time, this chore wore her out, both physically and emotionally. Then he started getting up in the middle of night. He would go into their bathroom, which was actually a part of their bedroom, turn on all the lights, and shave. Mother could not convince him to return to bed until he finished. As a result, mother couldn't get enough sleep at night. I don't have any answers that might have made their last months together any easier. Since they were very private people, sometimes it was hard to know what was really going on. When I stopped by their place, mother would talk nonstop as usual and daddy would smile a lot, like what he used to do. I took along food they enjoyed to them, like smoothies or milkshakes. Mother lovedorchids and they thrived under her care so she usually received one for any special occasion. Daddy would often let me brush his "angel hair", as mother named it, and I might help her fasten jewelry. All of these little things were ways to say "I love you", but we didn't often discuss some of  the truly important issues related to my daddy's declining health. I tried to respect their privacy and treat them with the dignity they deserved. I think they both tried to protect me, their daughter. I guess that's what parents do. What can we conclude after reading the passage?
A. The writer's family isn't filled with love.
B. It's not easy to care for someone with dementia.
C. It's hard to say the writer cares about her parents.
D. The writer knows how to make others' lives easier.
Answer: