I once knew a woman whose son had been abducted and was still missing 20 years later. She had, as she put it, perfected grief. She mourned him over and over again, with every anniversary or new lead in the case or phone call from the FBI. She said the pain never lessened — not even a little bit — but she became incredibly nimble at moving through it. I suppose that, in itself, is some form of “healed.”