Sundays are deadly days at Canadian Blood Services, my place of employment.

Two weeks ago today, a fellow employee of mine found out during her shift that her brother, 41, had died of a sudden heart attack. She let out multiple blood-curdling screams as she was led out of the main office area. I could only watch from my cubicle in awe of someone who had honestly had her heart broken.

The same thing happened tonight, sort of.

I was working out in the main office area, doing some half-training with some of the older ladies that do the telerecruitment for blood donations. Suddenly I hear a slight "thump" behind me, and there is a body on the floor.

Rushing over, I hear her mumble: "I thought it was my father, it's my husband, it's my husband." Turns out the poor woman's husband had a severe stroke, and is in the hospital. Cue screaming, cue exit, cue uneasy quiet afterwards.

I've always thought I've been good with death. It's inevitable. I don't tend to mourn. But these small brushes with death are starting to unsettle me. Not that I'm getting afraid of death, but something else.

I try to put myself in their situation, try and feel what they must be feeling at a moment like that. I picture my loved ones, dying... dead... but nothing comes. I feel empathy, I'm sure it hurts, but I just can't imagine what it feels like. I've had people die on me before, once infront of my own eyes, but I have never reacted that strongly.

I worry that I've grown too hard.

Update: It's official - her husband died a few short minutes ago. People are going home for the night early, as if it was their family member that died. I'm still here, as there is work to be done. Does that make me cold?