The horror of not being horrified

I'm wondering about my lack of aghast-ness upon finding out about the suicide of an acquaintance, a woman in her forties who was part of my "ladies who lunch" group. I was not close to her; she was not part of my daily life. I liked her. She seemed very cheerful, almost too cheerful. She loved dogs and children. She was unmarried; had never found "the one," and may have been "gay," but never made an admission of such (to me, anyway). Other friends from the group are quite distraught. I am more worried about them at this time than I am horrified by this person shooting herself through the heart with a 22. Is it possible it has not fully penetrated me, this news? It has been three days. Am I really so unenlightened as to care only about family, spouse, and very close friends? Or is the emotion I feel I'm lacking simply an unproductive panic that I've blessedly lost the capacity for? Even still, I asked the Wednesday-night Buddhist group to meditate on/around/about her for a few minutes. Like our now-deceased cat, Shadow, I must need an example of normal behavior to imitate, because tears came to my eyes only when I heard the sorrow in someone else's voice over the phone. Either Shadow was (in retrospect) guru-calm and free of kitty "samsara," or I am psychologically damaged, as we thought Shadow was. Or, none of the above.