Susan and I have been married for thirteen years. I've learned a lot about marriage in those years. Specifically, I've learned the three "keys" to a successful marriage:   

• Apologize when you make a mistake
• Make amends
• Communicate, communicate, communicate

Three years ago, I made a mistake that upset my wife. My deft handling of the situation led to reconciliation. Maybe others will benefit from my experience.

Susan and I were celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary at Cézanne's, the finest restaurant in Oklahoma City. The meal was delicious, the wine was superb, and the ambiance was perfect.

Driving home, we didn't talk much. After ten years of marriage, we had run out of things to say. Our lives hadn't changed much over the years and our conversations had grown stale.  We both liked our jobs -- I worked at the clinic and Susan had a job at the symphony -- but our lives were routine and predic-table. We had no children, though we wanted kids. We felt incomplete.

Then one day I was having lunch with one of my surgeon friends, Dr. Jeff Bender. I noticed that he was unusually cheerful.  

"What's up?" I said.

"Well, you're not going to believe this, Steve, but I'm going to Guatemala next week. I signed up this morning." 

"Guatemala? Really? Why?" I asked.

"I joined Doctors Without Borders," he replied. "This is my first trip with the group." 

Doctors Without Borders received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1999.

"That's great," I said. "Why did you join?"

"I thought it would be fun to do something rewarding and challenging," he said. "It's a great organization. You ought to join."

I knew about Doctors Without Borders, but I had never thought about joining. Now that Jeff had suggested it, it seemed like a neat thing to do. I asked him about the trip, which he described in detail. His enthusiasm was palpable. As we returned to the clinic, he said, "Why don't you join us? We could use another pair of hands."   

I thought about it all afternoon -- and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go.  At the end of the day, I stepped into his office and said, "Jeff, I'd like to go. I'll talk to Susan about it."

"Okay," he said. "The sign-up deadline is ten o'clock tonight. Just call me."

I told him I would.

I called Susan immediately, but she was not home. I left the clinic and drove home.  She was not there. Then I noticed a note on the kitchen table: "Honey, father is sick. I'm going to see him. There's food in the fridge. Love, Susan."

Susan's father lived in Bartlesville, four hours away. I tried to call her but there was no answer.

I paced the floor.  Finally, I called Jeff and explained the situation. "Susan's not here, and I can't go away for a month without telling her."

"Okay," he said puckishly. "But I bet she wouldn't mind. She'd probably be happy to have you out of the house for a while." 

Jeff knew me and Susan well.  He knew we enjoyed our independence.

"Well, maybe you're right," I said. "Besides, I tried to call her."

After a moment's reflection, I said, "Okay, sign me up!"

That was a huge mistake.

At eleven, Susan called from Bartlesville to say her father had bronchitis. She was going to stay with him and return the next day. 

With some trepidation, I told her what I had done.

She was silent. I could tell she was upset.

Softly, she said: "Honey, don't you think a month-long absence is something we should have discussed? We promised we would make major decisions together."

I apologized and told her she was right. I offered to cancel the trip, but she said that was unnecessary. I apologized again and told her I would discuss things of this magnitude with her in the future. I then gave her a phone kiss and wished her good-night.  She wished me the same.

When she returned the next day, she was quieter than usual. She didn't seem upset, just pensive. After dinner, I followed her to the living room and began talking to her about random things, hoping to draw her out. The more I talked, the more communicative she became. Within an hour, I understood her frus-tration: I was going on an exciting trip, and she had nothing to look forward to.  The solution was clear:  She needed an avocation -- and I was eager to help her find one. 

I made several suggestions, none of which she liked. Then I remembered that she had always been interested in landscape design. She had once talked about taking classes, but had never followed through. When I mentioned the possi-bility of doing so, her eyes lit up.  At that moment, I knew I was on the right track. The next day, she signed up for class. It was a turning point in our marriage.

The following week I left for Guatemala City.

Each day, I called Susan to see how she was doing. She loved her class. From the tone of her voice, I could tell she had found her passion. Our conver-sations went from dull to interesting. She would talk at length about what she had learned, which books she had read, which designs she liked most. I was delighted to see her happy.

When I returned home after a month, she met me at the airport and told me she had a surprise. To see it, we had to go to the neighborhood park, which we did.

And here was the surprise:  

I was amazed. The garden was beautiful, and I was so proud of Susan. That evening, she thanked me for my suggestion and support. 

She continued taking classes, while I started working at the local indigent clinic. Susan and I were now fulfilled in our personal lives, which made our conversations more vibrant and our time together more enjoyable. We were happier than we had been in a long time. When we were blessed with a daughter two years later, our joy was magnified. Our lives were now complete.  

Yesterday we chose the ideal location for our daughter's first birthday:  Susan's garden, which had grown more resplendent with each passing month.    

Susan, I love you.  You're an artist, a wonderful wife, and a loving mother. And as for you, my little darling:  Happy First Birthday! Daddy loves you, sweetheart.

Latesha Blevins, 1st Birthday

By the way, Susan is very modest about her abilities. She won't brag, so I will. Here's what her teacher wrote about her:

Dear Susan,

You're amazingly gifted. I am confident you will become a magnificent  landscape artist. When you first joined the class, I never imagined you were so talented :)  I'm delighted you've decided to pursue advanced "classes."  You have an artist's eye.  I look forward to following your progress.

Sincerely,

Tyrone Jackson