...I would be sad. But not horribly so.
At 51, I think I've pretty much been through all of the shallow stuff there is to go through. The decades of upset over:
The shitty, hateful, immature parents; the first innocent love (Ginny) who left me when I went off to college; the first actual sex after I came out (the scumbag Mollie); the first workplace sex with a married boss (Bill); the first online obsession/being catfished by a tranny (Julie); the first online re-connection with a past college obsession (Sandra).
From childhood through age 51, I've pretty much run the gamut of shittiness when it comes to attempts at intimacy. I have felt momentary glimpses of closeness with each of the abovementioned, but... "moments" don't count. "Moments" are kid-stuff, like liking a band for a season.
This evening, I feel that the above are, rightfully, sloughed away. If I were to die tonight, I would die emotionally clean and clear.
Follow-up the next day: Upon waking this morning, I had a groggy but literal vision of pinching off the end of a balloon and then watching the balloon sail off into the sky. That's how I feel about the above people in my life. They lighten me with their absence.
I perhaps have been watching too many episodes of "The Dead Files" (which have actually spooked me, to the point of turning on lights). A main lesson that I've gleaned from the show and its accompanying lost souls: "Get yourself right with the world if you don't want to be trapped in some horrific limbo after you've left it." Got it.