Someone once said, "The mind with dementia is like a room full of lights. One by one the lights blow out. Each burned out light can never be re-lit and when the room is dark . . . you die."
My mother's dementia was exactly like that in the progress of the disease and in the end. One day she could use a knife and then one day she didn't know what it was for, much less how to use it.
It was the same for picking out her clothes, dressing and bathing. Each time she lost something, I thought, "There went another light!" I kept each light lit as long as possible, never doing anything for her as long as she could do it herself. If you cut their meat while they still can, you essentially blow out the light yourself. Don't do it. I had unique ideas and ways to care for Mom and it needs telling.