Shared pain. Such a concept maintains and lifts humanity time and again.

We hear of the suffering of others and react. Response is often enhanced when it is easy for us to identify with the malady or condition. Yet many of us feel compassion for those suffering in Haiti, at war or in our own Gulf region.

\When humanity is at its best, we translate what we know of suffering and extend to others our prayers, our compassion and our assistance in events of great tragedy and of everyday loss.

The other day, I accompanied my husband to a meeting where a colleague revealed that he suffered from kidney stones. Immediately, I sought opportunities to provide cranberry juice and commiseration. Having experienced the same pain on three occasions, I wanted to help. Other than proffering cranberry juice, I could little more than reassure that this, too, shall pass.

Some pain we understand immediately. We all have losses and understand variations of physical, emotional and spiritual pain. History provides examples of suffering beyond our own experiences, many times conveyed through the most beautiful of literature.

And yet there is some pain known only to ourselves, pain that cannot be readily shared. This pain cannot be conveyed by words, no matter how beautifully they are crafted.

The past year has been a year of painful experiences for all of my family members. It is just past one year since my husband was critically injured in a wreck. It has been a year where I have often chosen to be stoic. This is not my normal temperament. Yet there is some pain too deep to share. Not only are these feelings unutterable in mere words, but they are indeed trivialized by conversation.

My husband's pain has been physical, through which he too has shown stoicism. Never has he complained, though 24 broken bones and countless diagnoses have altered his life if not his spirit. I cannot imagine his pain, as it continues still with physical therapy and walking again. As long as he can work and be with his family, he is well.

Our youngest son, William, has reacted by maturing at a faster rate, providing both emotional support and comic relief. He is our constant, our thread of the normalcy of adolescence amidst the new backdrop that is our lives.

My pain comes from a time of isolation, of 32 nights sleeping on a couch at Grady Hospital with a room full of strangers, all staying as close as possible to a loved one in intensive care. There, we could be reached at all hours to sign consent, to be called to a bedside, or to simply know we were there if needed. For the first time in 19 years of marriage, I was alone in making decisions, in reassuring our children, and in willing my husband to live.

Within the walls of the ICU waiting room is a world of horror, procedures and the pain of helplessness amid hope. Never again will I hear the words "the victim was taken to Grady" without seeing those walls and praying for those families within.

Much occurs to me now, as I can finally reflect upon this year. Some pain is too singular to readily share, even with those closest to us. That does not mean that prayer and kind words go unnoticed. Indeed, they sustain the soul. The support and love of the Gainesville community overwhelmed and healed us in so many ways.

Perhaps the most important aspect of pain is its immeasurable nature. No comparison is appropriate. One person does not hurt more than another. Divorce, death, fear, illness - no pain is greater than or less than another. When the pain is ours, it just hurts.

There are many lessons of the past year that I have not yet processed or realized. But I hope that I have learned to reach out in the best spirit of humanity to those around me. I hope I have learned there is much I do not know or understand, but it is no less real to those who live it.

I do know that I have a dear friend who calls often for no reason, and it took me months to realize she was checking on me amidst our small talk. I know that the cleaning lady in ICU was an angel whose sweet spirit sustained me at the wee hours of many mornings as I walked halls back and forth between my husband and my couch.

I do know that the prayers of the Christian community, the Islamic community and many others unknown to me were felt by me.

Perhaps not all pain can be readily shared or alleviated. But humanity is at its best when it reaches out and tries.

Renee Hand Morris is an English teacher at Gainesville Middle School.