IT WAS A BLUSTERY, RAINY DAY 19 years ago when Mary Elizabeth and I were married on September 18, 1993.  We had planned an outdoor wedding, but luckily had a fallback plan in case of inclement weather.

Mary Elizabeth grew up on the grounds of an 86-acre estate, which had been turned into Mill Neck Manor – a school for deaf children, founded by her father and the Lutheran Friends of the Deaf in the early 1950s.  The centerpiece of the campus is a Tudor-style mansion, which sits at the top of a hill and has views of Connecticut on a clear day.  For many years, it housed the students and classes until vigorous fundraising enabled additional buildings to be built.

As we were planning our wedding, we very quickly decided it would be nice to be married at Mill Neck Manor, where Mary Elizabeth’s father had served as headmaster until his untimely death in 1972 from a stroke.  We made the necessary phone calls and while they didn’t usually allow weddings at the mansion, they made an exception for Mary Elizabeth.

As was the custom in the 1920s, many parts of the house and formal gardens were brought over from Europe – including the massive English beech trees which still line the driveway up to the house.  They apparently sailed over in giant pots on a steamship in the 1920s when the house was built.

We had planned for the ceremony itself to take place in the formal gardens adjacent to the house, with drinks on the terrace overlooking the Long Island Sound, and dinner and dancing in a tent on the lawn.  Most of that happened – except for the formal garden part, since it was wet and blustery.  Luckily the ballroom of the house had been turned into a chapel, so we were able to cram all 130 guests into the pews and it turned out to be a wonderful setting for the service, conducted by our friend Pam.

We had a great time at the wedding and before people had a chance to leave, we changed into our “going away” outfits and climbed into a vintage Rolls and headed into the city for a night at a fancy hotel overlooking the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Central Park.

The next morning dawned bright and clear (of course!) and we checked out, hopped in a cab and headed back to our apartment on Horatio Street.  We were leaving that evening for several weeks in Florence and Tuscany. I clearly remember doing laundry in the basement of our apartment building that afternoon and chatting with an old lady, who was shocked and amazed that I had been married the night before and here I was, measuring detergent into a machine and folding clean clothes for the trip.

But that’s what our life has been since then – some extraordinary times, interspersed with quiet, humble domesticity.

As we said our vows to each other, we uttered the traditional words that so many use – “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” I don’t know if any of us really thinks too hard about the meaning of the words as they say them – although we took them very seriously – but when you’re young(ish)  and starting out and filled with optimism, the down side is the last thing on your mind.

But 16 years later, we were plunged suddenly into the “sickness and in health” part of the program as I found myself keeping vigil by Mary Elizabeth’s hospital bed in London.

In the almost three years  since the stroke, we’ve both changed a lot and certainly our marriage has a different dynamic now than it did those many years ago.  But that stroke, that coma, that brain infection – none of them has broken the bond we forged together 19 years ago as we held hands and confidently made promises to each other in front of our friends and families.

As we continue to adjust to our new lives together, we have the chance to see our relationship in a whole new light – with changing roles and expectations, but with no less love, tenderness or affection.