I miss my father. My father died more than twenty years ago. I was fifteen. He was kind, strong, fair, and very funny. When I was a young musician, he was my biggest fan. I played my violin for him when he visited, and he loved everything, but each time he had one request. "Could you play 'Amazing Grace'?" he asked, full of hope and with a twinkle in his eyes, because he knew my answer was always, "I don't know that one!" We went through this routine at every major holiday, and I always figured I'd have time to learn it for him later. About the time I entered high school and started guitar, Dad got cancer. The last time I saw him alive was Thanksgiving weekend in 1985. My mom warned us that Dad didn't look the same anymore and that we should prepare ourselves. For a moment I didn't recognize him. He looked so small among all the white sheets. We had all gathered in Ohio for the holiday, and I'm sure we all knew we were there to say good-bye. I can see now that Dad held on long enough to see us each one more time. I remember how we ate in the dining room and laughed and talked while Dad rested in his hospital bed. I wonder if it was sad for him to be alone with our voices and laughter. Knowing Dad, he was probably content. The next morning I found my moment alone with him. I pulled out my guitar, tuned to his appreciative gaze, and finally played for him "Amazing Grace." I had worked on it for weeks, knowing it never mattered whether I actually played it well and choosing not to believe as I played that it was my last concert for my biggest fan. The cancer had stolen his smile, but I saw joy in his eyes. He held my hand afterwards, and I knew I had done something important. I argued with people all through college about my music major. I was told by strangers that music wouldn't make me any money and it wasn't useful like being a doctor. But I know firsthand that with music I was able to give my Dad something at a point when no one else could. When the author finally played "Amazing Grace" for Dad,   _  .
she made him smile joyfully she brought him love and comfort she knew she must play it well she believed she could play it many times for him
Question: I miss my father. My father died more than twenty years ago. I was fifteen. He was kind, strong, fair, and very funny. When I was a young musician, he was my biggest fan. I played my violin for him when he visited, and he loved everything, but each time he had one request. "Could you play 'Amazing Grace'?" he asked, full of hope and with a twinkle in his eyes, because he knew my answer was always, "I don't know that one!" We went through this routine at every major holiday, and I always figured I'd have time to learn it for him later. About the time I entered high school and started guitar, Dad got cancer. The last time I saw him alive was Thanksgiving weekend in 1985. My mom warned us that Dad didn't look the same anymore and that we should prepare ourselves. For a moment I didn't recognize him. He looked so small among all the white sheets. We had all gathered in Ohio for the holiday, and I'm sure we all knew we were there to say good-bye. I can see now that Dad held on long enough to see us each one more time. I remember how we ate in the dining room and laughed and talked while Dad rested in his hospital bed. I wonder if it was sad for him to be alone with our voices and laughter. Knowing Dad, he was probably content. The next morning I found my moment alone with him. I pulled out my guitar, tuned to his appreciative gaze, and finally played for him "Amazing Grace." I had worked on it for weeks, knowing it never mattered whether I actually played it well and choosing not to believe as I played that it was my last concert for my biggest fan. The cancer had stolen his smile, but I saw joy in his eyes. He held my hand afterwards, and I knew I had done something important. I argued with people all through college about my music major. I was told by strangers that music wouldn't make me any money and it wasn't useful like being a doctor. But I know firsthand that with music I was able to give my Dad something at a point when no one else could. When the author finally played "Amazing Grace" for Dad,   _  .
A. she made him smile joyfully
B. she brought him love and comfort
C. she knew she must play it well
D. she believed she could play it many times for him
Answer: