to the moon & to saturn | cate blanchett

epilogue

Her mother used to tell her that love was both a blessing and a curse.

In the case of her mother and father's relationship, Elle certainly believed that. The curse in their relationship often overshadowed the blessing, burying it at the bottom of a can of beer. By the time the poison was consumed, there was little love to be found. Only a few last drops that never made their way out of the can, no matter how hard the piece of tin shook. Those few remaining drops of love ended up crushed and tossed into the trash.

When Elle's father passed, her belief in the concept of love laid to rest with him. Her father loved to escape, and he chose alcohol as a means to cope. However, in the end, his own choices killed him.

He poured all of his fear, doubt, and time into something destructive. Something that could not love him back. Alcohol did not treat him with the same kindness and compassion that he gave to it.

Grief aged her mother.

While the actual death of her father led to Elle's doubts of romance, it was the grief that destroyed that same belief in her mother. The aftermath, rather than the act itself, tore her mother apart. Grief stole her ability to pour herself into another person.

For years, Elle blamed herself. She vowed to try harder to get her mother's attention. She pushed herself to her limits to earn her mother's affection. She poured every ounce of her energy into a fleeting hope that words of affirmation would flow from her mother's mouth and be directed at her.

None of that worked.

That was a young version of Elle. A different version — a naive child living in a world of redecorating to cover up the pain that washed over a person who lost the love of their life. A child seeking love and affirmation from the wrong source.

She found that love, many years ago. Twenty-five, to be exact. Yet, she could still picture herself so vividly on that roller coaster, plummeting into her future, into the greatest love story of all time.

Their love was entirely a blessing. Dementia was the curse.

Elle was grown now, the same age Cate had been when they met. She stood in her bedroom (Cate slept in her own room, as that was more practical in case of a nighttime episode) staring at herself in the vanity mirror. Her hair: graying ever so slightly. Her skin: showing signs of early wrinkles. Her spirit: deflated like a popped balloon.

Grief was in the process of aging her.

Some days, it was easy to pretend that everything was still the same. She still lived in Australia, on the same hill in the countryside with her same beautiful wife. A year after their wedding, they adopted two children: Luna and Atlas. Luna, a fiercely protective older sister, had Cate's gorgeous blonde hair and crystal eyes, while Atlas had a messy plop of brown curly locks on top of his head. Luna was six and Atlas was four when Cate and Elle welcomed them into their family, and they grew up in what seemed to be a blink of an eye. Gone were the days of dance recitals and baseball games, replaced by college graduations, careers, and families of their own.

Other days, it was impossible to ignore the inevitable facts of the situation. Elle's mother died closely following her own college graduation, and she felt a stronger connection to her in death rather than in life. She understood now how her mother felt. She knew the weight of insurmountable grief — she carried it around in her stomach every single day.

It was not easy watching your partner slip away from you with no way to prevent it.

There were plenty of warnings, mainly from doctors and specialists. Which is why Elle stopped making appointments for Cate. It was disheartening to hear for the millionth time that Alzheimer's has no cure; she felt completely and utterly helpless.