My grandfather was taken by cancer about six or seven years ago. When my dad called to tell me he was gone, I just thanked him for informing me and went on with my day. I felt like a piece of shit because I should have felt something about it, but instead I was just numb.
My first dog was put down a little under two years ago. He was old, so it wasn't a surprise when the time came; I expected to hear the news every time I visited. What really stung, though, was walking through the front door and, for the first time in 13 years, he didn't run up with his tail wagging. My dad and I just stood there in the doorway and we knew we were thinking the same thing.