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The heat of Tatooine’s twin suns burned brightly down on Obi-Wan as he walked across the sands where everything had begun and now, for him, where everything would end.
He had been wandering the desert for hours now—lost. Somehow it seemed fitting that he should be lost here in the desert where Anakin’s life had begun, as though by being here he was keeping some part of Anakin alive—the best parts of him perhaps—a young boy trapped on a desert planet in the far reaches of the galaxy with nothing but his name and a mother who loved him. When all the boy knew was love and kindness.
And now another young boy would have the same start, he hoped he had made the right decision. He would grow knowing love and kindness and none of the harshness of slavery. Perhaps that would make a difference. Perhaps it wouldn’t. Obi-Wan would protect Anakin’s son just the same. He wouldn’t fail him again.
Obi-Wan wondered what would have happened if Anakin had never been found or been freed from slavery. He found, surprisingly, that he wouldn’t have changed a thing—except perhaps saving the one person who had taught Anakin kindness. Obi-Wan saw now how it had done more harm than good leaving Shmi on Tatooine, her only son taken from her and left to fend for herself. And a son left to fear for his mother. Perhaps with her guidance Anakin wouldn’t have turned. Wouldn’t have died. But there was no changing the past, he would have to live with his regrets and his mistakes.
When he stopped to look where his wandering had taken him, his eyes welled with tears. Whether by the will of the Force or a subconscious part of his mind, he looked upon a familiar homestead. In the distance he saw what could only be Shmi’s headstone. He had finally found out the ugly truth about that when he found one of Padmé’s old journals while going through her apartment after her death. He had been devastated not to have known or felt Anakin’s grief over the loss of his mother and his beginning toward the Dark Side.
He made his way to Shmi’s grave, not really knowing why. To the Jedi, death was only the beginning—there was no mourning. But Shmi hadn’t been a Jedi—just a mother who had entrusted her son to the Jedi. Obi-Wan had failed her too. He knelt at her grave and reached out in the Force. He so desperately wanted her to know how sorry he was, seeking forgiveness and perhaps guidance.
But there was no answer in the Force and he was alone with nothing but his memories.
“I’m so sorry.” Was all he could manage to say, hoping that wherever she was, she could hear his words and feel the truth in them. A warm breeze rolled over him and he had the sensation of someone brushing past him, just his imagination he was sure. Shmi hadn’t been a Jedi, he reminded himself.
He pulled out Anakin’s lightsaber and held it in his hands. This weapon is your life, Obi-Wan had said to Anakin. More than once. A small smile crossed his face at the memory of the stubborn young boy. Then it disappeared again knowing that he had taken Anakin’s lightsaber—Anakin’s life.
He laid the lightsaber down on her grave, to bury at least a part of Anakin with his mother. He stared at the lightsaber and all that it had been and meant. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t get rid of the last memory he had of Anakin. Perhaps it was out selfishness or perhaps it was his attachment and love for Anakin, or perhaps it was both, he didn’t know, but he picked up Anakin’s lightsaber. He couldn’t let it go, not yet.
As he walked away with Anakin’s lightsaber, he felt a breeze again and had the distinct impression of a hand on his shoulder and a warmth beside him that wasn’t from the twin suns over his head.