This weekend a scientific conference created the opportunity for a convergence of Rob's old friends. Once a close-knit group of graduate school students, these men and women pursued jobs in their particular specialties and settled in various far-flung states and countries.

I had long ago grown close to them through Rob, but given our recent troubles, this time they didn't feel like my old friends. They were his.

It was tough to dutifully play the part of doting wife as brunches with other couples turned into walks around the old neighborhood, drinks at the pub, and eventually dinner as well. That's many hours of reminiscing and, eventually, tired smiles...

Talk focused on weddings, births, and — this gang's ultimate milestone — the defense seminars that concluded their graduate studies. It took me back to my first couple years with Rob, when every few months we were participating in the celebration of someone's landmark event.

We pub-crawled after friends' dissertation defenses, hosted graduation parties, and traveled the country for weddings. Our courtship was lined with others' milestones.

As the frequency of the rites of passage dwindled — once everyone had wed, settled into jobs, and had their first children — our sense of couplehood faltered.

Was it the ritual reinforcement of our roles within this community that kept us together? Years later, everyone else is going strong. Rob and I, now isolated from the community we were born into as a couple, don't seem to have our own glue.