When I was about twelve, I headed to a restaurant for dinner with my family. It was a windy winter night. As my mom and I headed towards the restaurant from our car, a girl about my age and her mother came up to us. They asked if we had any spare dollars. My mom immediately asked where they kept their things. They pointed to an old car in the parking across the street. The girl said there were six of them living in that car, the same size as my own family. My mom said she had something to do after handing the people a few dollars. She sent me inside the restaurant with my dad and my three siblings  .But she didn't come. Later, I found out she had gone home and emptied our cupboards into a few bags. Then, she brought that food over to the car and handed the bags to the family. I wasn't there when that part happened, but I can imagine the joy it brought to their faces. A few days later, when I actually found out about what she had done, I asked her why she helped those people. She told me that they were not lucky. I remember the face of that girl who had asked us for dollars; she was the same age as me, yet our lives were so different. Here I stood, dressed in almost new clothes, headed to a restaurant and then back home to the bedroom I shared with my younger sister. I remember thinking that the girl didn't have any food to eat and that she was heading back to a cold car shared with five other people. After painting this picture in my mind, I understood my mom. I will never forget what she did that night. And that night I also learned one of the best lessons she taught. Which of the following words can best describe the writer's mother?
Patient. Strict. Proud. Kind.