Evacuated again. Throwing up, shaking, fearing, hurting, crying. Again. And again the feeling I keep having is that terror. That terror that I had twice before. The feeling that it is gone, it’s over. You summon your courage, your optimism, your humor - the things that people love you for. You decide that tomorrow Beirut will be back, that you will see daddy again (oh how I kept turning my brain away from thoughts of him when he died - it was too difficult to fathom the reality). The idea that you will never see something or someone you love again is unbelievably terrifying when you know really that it’s over, it’s gone, and it’s getting worse every day.