If humans were to disappear from the face of the earth, the earth wouldn't notice. It would go on growing trees and fields, evolving from this state to that state, poking it's little fingers up through the macadam and parking lots, wearing down the buildings and machinery, until it looked once again much the way the rain forests in South America look, mysterious lumps overgrown with vegetation.
It wouldn't matter a hoot nor a holler about where we went or why or how. Or even that we were gone. Snow would still fall, or not, rain, drought, aridity, typhoons and monsoons, earthquakes and tidal waves, sweeping clean, shaking things up. This is, geologically, still a relatively young planet. It's still inventing itself, and we are part of the process--not the end result, just another bit of evolutionary history; always--like everything else out there--on the edge of obliteration.
Hard to fathom sometimes, we get so wrapped up in our seemingly ineluctable importance, but the planet wouldn't pay much attention. I doubt if it would miss us very much, either.
I find that strangely comforting.