That isn't happening. When I shared the loss of my cat Jason, who I had to put to sleep yesterday, my former college classmates let me know their recent sufferings. One had sat with her mother as she died. Another had just lost her mother about a year ago. And a third was coping with her daughter's severe medical crisis.
Sure, they were still standing. And so was I. But our communal pain was palpable. I am tempted to want to close myself off to any emotional experience. Each loss doesn't, as I had assumed would happen, make the next easier. Practice doesn't lessen the pain.
When we went off to college, with the dashing John Kennedy as our leader, we thought we were special. Life wouldn't touch us in the ways that had emotionally defeated our parents. We wouldn't allow that. But life did touch us in ways we didn't expect. It still is. It's a big disappointment to recognize that we aren't special, after all.