When her mother died, Ziva embraced her little sister and together they cried over a motionless body, the low, prolonged beep of a flatlining heart monitor the only symphony playing for them.
When her sister died, she clung to the broken, burnt, but still recognizable corpse of an innocent child, sobbing as her world fell apart and vowed never again.
When her brother died, she stood over him in the steadily growing pool of blood and looked into his vacant eyes, singing softly and all the while trying to convince herself that it was for the best.
So, when her father dies that night, and she sees yet another broken body, another set of empty and lifeless eyes, she lets out an anguished scream at the tragic unfairness of it all.
This is not her first rodeo.