When Werewolves Leave Us and the Moon Goes Dark

Suddenly my depression feels like a farce. It may be real, but it is truly eclipsed by sadness. Does that make sense? Absolutely.
I'm not good at feeling things. Depression is a flux of feeling a hopeless, empty pit of numbness and overwhelming, negative emotions.
Earlier this week, a dear friend truly went to a better place. After years of dealing with cancer (Fuck Cancer), he let go of the suffering and passed in his sleep. As soon as I heard, I dropped everything and rushed to my newly widowed friend's side. When I received the call, I wailed like a fool, and then promptly felt nothing.  Probably a good thing because it allowed me to be a relief for those being hit by a semi-truck of emotions. At least, I like to think I was helpful. I couldn't feel anything though. It wasn't real. He nearly instantly began being erased from my memories. I would rather have broken down into a pool of tears and unbearable pain than lose my memories of him. I really, truly hope the tears come soon. My eyes leak from time-to-time, but no real crying. I have to wonder if I would feel anything if I wasn't already depressed. I don't think there's an answer for that.
I'm being taught many lessons right now. It sucks. I'm learning that I can't do anything on my own. I have to give up and let my God be in control. (I don't care if you're not religious at all, I'm allowed to have a belief in a Heavenly Father without being judged.)
I'm being taught that I can't hold on to what happens at work. I'm really bad about this. I dwell on the negative, soul sucking of an experience each day is, and it only makes it worse. It greatly decreases my quality of life.
I'm learning that I have to let go of myself and understand that other people are far more important than I. This isn't to say that I'm not important, but I have to remember that sometimes other people just matter more. It can't be about me.
With my werewolf dying, I am floating in a sea of confusion. Am I allowed to feel like this actually affects me? I feel guilty making this about me at all. I want it to be about me. Not that it isn't about anyone else, but I want myself to deserve comfort. The truth is, I feel selfish to elicit comfort. I am overwhelmed with confused guilt. I wasn't the best friend that I could have been to my dear werewolf. He deserved more from me.
He was amazing. He was a complete buffoon, and he was beyond special. He was an idiot and so smart. He lacked most social skills, but he loved so well.

I don't know what I'm saying. I don't know what else to say. I should have touched his face.

Hopefully he won't mind me posting this:
A wonderful person in my life recently lost his father in a similar fashion as I lost my werewolf. I never met his father, but I know him slightly through some select writings of his that I am privileged to have read. He wrote this poem shortly before he passed, and though he wrote it with his own experience in mind, he unknowingly wrote it for my werewolf:

On a seemingly early Demise

On the wings of an angel I rode to my death
How bad can the landing be
It seemed yet a bit early,
But the timing worked better,
And actually tamed the beast.