Those anticipated tears never did fully manifest---they were mostly subsumed back into the fluid corporeal sea. Nonetheless, while watching a movie last night ("A Love Song for Bobby Long"), I did find tears streaming down my face during a few of the more poignant moments. Films and stories of personal redemption always get me. While the tears were more of a reaction to the story unfolding on the flickering screen than to my own personal story, I still feel that there's a connection. We cry during movies when the unfolding drama touches a cord within our own psyche. The message I received was simple: the gift of life is not to be wasted.
That said, sadness still comes and goes. My recurrent depression (which has haunted me since childhood) does hold some gifts, and among the goals of this latter half of my life must be one which includes finding out what exactly those gifts are. This being human is certainly quite tiring, no matter how wondrous.