For many of us this sense of loss after the death of someone we’ve never met, who existed in a social stratosphere far above, might seem strange.

True, millions will express their sadness or even grief at the death of Queen Elizabeth II openly and without hesitation.

Others will feel reflective; some will make an instant connection, through space, time and privilege with their own life and inevitable death.

Cynics and anti-royalists – including many of my friends – have taken to Twitter to berate TV journalists’ cloyingly deferential tones, the hijacking of the BBC programming, but above all, the expressions of grief from ordinary people, who’ve trudged to the nearest royal palace with umbrellas in hand.

In a sea of sarcasm and cheap digs, I noticed a simple tweet from one writer and activist, hardly known for his establishment opinions. “I’m not a monarchist but I’m feeling really sad about the Queen,” he said. He got lots of likes.

I’m not a fan of the Royal Family, either, but I was also a bit surprised at my sense of shock and sadness on hearing the news of her death.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. The Queen’s status made her prominent in our thoughts even as it created social distance. The nation has had seven decades to relate its own hopes, fears and sense of mortality to hers.

Her inscrutability and that impression of constancy probably made it easier — like a blank canvas would – for people to see their emotions reflected in her.

It’s only natural that this national act of transference should produce a sense of loss upon her passing. The common responses to her death: “she was always there”, “she felt like the country’s grandmother”, should prompt sympathy and understanding rather than derision.

The death of Diana also produced an outpouring of national grief. Although that situation was very different. Diana was young, her death was completely unexpected, and she was seen by many as a victim of the royal establishment, not one of its great accomplishments.

But the appearance of thousands at the gates of Buckingham Palace, bearing cards and bunches of cheap carnations, elicited the same sneers that we’ve seen on Twitter this week.

I remember it then, the sheer contempt of “clever” people, at these public displays of grief.

To invest emotions in a prominent celebrity, or to live a little vicariously through them, isn’t stupid or pitiable, regardless of whether that person is a groundbreaking artist like David Bowie or a troubled aristocrat like Diana Spencer. To say otherwise is snobbish – and reductive.

I wonder if the sympathies aroused by the deaths of these two celebrities might have more in common – perhaps due to their status as outsiders – than many realised.

I don’t know if Queen Elizabeth II’s passing will weaken, or even speed the demise of the monarchy in its current form.

I used to think that the threat of a President Thatcher or a President Corbyn, justified its existence. It doesn’t. If we vote people in, we can vote them out. But the royals are officially better than us and are here for keeps; the ultimate example of unequal-opportunity Britain.

Whether they take a backseat like the Swedish counterparts or give up the state duties completely, their time may be running out.

But that doesn’t detract from the qualities in Queen Elizabeth II that millions found so admirable. Patience, discretion, a sense of duty, and according to those who knew her, the wit, charm and quiet insistence in pressing for what she believed to be right.

The most obvious instance of the latter trait occurred when, in contrast to the Thatcher government, she used her influence to pressure the South African government to end institutionalised racist segregation. Former Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney described her as a “behind-the-scenes force” in helping to bring an end to apartheid.

It’s hard to imagine Charles enjoying the same level of affection, although the flood of sentiment produced by his mother’s death will probably provide him with a honeymoon period. He might use it shrewdly.

Regardless, to deny the Queen her due, as an extraordinary public servant, a global superstar and by all accounts, a likeable person, doesn’t burnish your credentials as a republican thinker. But it might call into question your empathy. You don’t have to mourn her death, but do respect the rights of others to grieve, or in the case of many of us, simply feel sad and reflective. It is, after all, only natural.

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