What I was feeling when Gatsby died

Jay Gatsby. James Gatz. The Great Gatsby. Whatever you know him as, he is still, and has always been, the same man. People may think he used to be a different man when he was poor. Maybe he didn't have the money then, but he still had the same dream. Ever since he was a little boy, he had the dream of one day being a successful man. He worked hard and did what he had to do to make this happen, no matter the way he had to do it. I never thought I would ever end up friends with someone as extravagant as Jay. But ever since that first party I attended, I stood corrected. I was honest with Jay. Not that I wasn't honest with everyone else, but I almost felt extra honest with him. I only ever gave him one compliment, just one. But that's what made our friendship special. He, in some sort of way, knew that I never fully approved of his ways of doing things. He knew that I did not hail down to him as the "Great Gatsby" like many others did. We had an understanding of each other that was honestly pretty special. Anyway, when he died it hit me in a way that I never thought would happen. I was sad and taken back. I didn't expect anything like that to happen and it caught me off guard quite a bit. I felt badly that he didn't have anyone in his life, besides myself and his father, that wanted to come to his funeral. I did everything I could to get people to come, but no one would listen. I knew him for such a short amount of time, but in that short amount, I became someone that would grieve over his death. I felt sorrowful when Jay Gatsby died.