Death of a Japanese maple

My Japanese maple died today. I killed it, delivering the coup-de-grace as I hacked it's still-tough branches, stem and roots into pieces small enough to be stuffed into garbage bags along with the soil that nurtured it. I felt sad, even though it was a plant after all. Why do people say that? I felt attached to it, enough to feel that I'd let it down in some way. I think somehow that I contributed to it's death - even though I was traveling the week it contracted what appeared to be some sort of leaf rust, a fungus that overwhelmed it's delicate mint-green mini-maple leaves eventually. I did try to keep it going, and in doing so I used up a couple of bottles of fungicide. But to no avail - it finally just gave up. I don't know if its a metaphor for events taking shape in my life, or whether it's a portent of things to come in nature. Or perhaps it doesn't really mean very much at all - a plant that grew green and happy, then went spotty brown and finally drooped and died.
But I will miss it for sure - as I sit in my chair, just as I sat in the past - savoring the setting sun filtering through those delicate mint-green mini-maple leaves as they nodded contentedly in the gentle evening breeze.