Little Wonders by Rob Thomas
Let it go
Let it roll right off your shoulder
Don't you know
The hardest part is over
Let it in
Let your clarity define you
In the end
We will only just remember how it feels
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These small hours still remain
They called me the Negotiator, even before I was addressed as General Kenobi. But that wasn't my most important assignment, not really. I was a poster Jedi, more confidence placed in my abilities by the Council and my Master than I had in myself. Before I even knew I was ready for the trials, I was cast free, and laden with a padawan soon afterwards.
Laden. Such as burdensome word. He was my largest task, one that eventually would prove my worth both as a Jedi and a human being.
I remember when we brought him with us from Tatooine, all relieved to escape the oppressive heat of that planet. All except him, it seemed. He had the hardest time adjusting. I remember him huddled beneath his blanket at night, crying for his mother. I remember doing nothing to assist, nothing to ease his transition.
He was to be a Jedi, after all. Jedi shall not know attachments, and he would have to learn how to press on, how to let go of his feelings and never look anywhere but forward.
I was wrong.
Space was cold. In retrospect, I realize this, especially coming from a planet such as his. Anakin left the warmth of his planet and the warmth of his mother's arms to which he'd been acclimated. He finally calmed and slept when he was tucked in by a handmaiden, a kindly spirit who gave him the nurturing I could not. He gave her a carved wooden pendant as a token of his affection, the only way he knew to express his gratitude.
The significance of such a gesture was lost on me.
Our lives are made
In these small hours
These little wonders
These twists & turns of fate
Time falls away
But these small hours
These small hours still remain
The boy I mentored grew into a man, a symbol of hope for the Republic during the time of war, a true Hero with no Fear. I was proud of him, so proud, but never showed it.
I should have.
I knew he never let go of his need for attachments; I knew him too well for him to ever hide it. His longing for the Senator had been palpable, perhaps a misplaced need for his mother. I was supposed to be a perfect Jedi, and perfect Jedi never break the rules; they report infractions.
But I could not betray him, not on this. I'm guilty of the same.
Anakin had his secret weakness. Qui-Gon had his. I had mine.
My weakness had come and gone in the form of a beautiful Jedi named Siri Tachi. We fought together, laughed together, and were separated for years, but I never forgot her. She'd always carried with her a blue warming crystal, her favorite possession, and on one of our last missions I watched her give it to a suffering little boy named Talesan we were assigned to protect.
What kind of mother would she have made? I'd wondered, as a glowing possibility of alternate futures crossed my mind. I stopped myself. We were Jedi, that was not what our lives were meant to be. It was she who made the final decision not to act on our feelings.
My last memory of Siri was her death in my arms, at the hands of a bounty hunter named Magus. The boy we'd protected grew up to be a man and returned the crystal to Siri as gift, never forgetting her kindness. She pressed it into my hands when the life left her body, as the woman I loved joined with the Force, murmuring, "Yours".
I finally understood the value of something so small.
All of my regret
Will wash away some how
But I can not forget
The way I feel right now
I am on Tatooine again, but my life is sad now, devoid of purpose. There is no forward for me but my small lodging and the berm from which I meditate daily, my only consolation a desert wasteland. Qui-Gon counsels me in whispers, echoes of the Living Force, and I can sense traces of my former brother in his son Luke, a living and breathing embodiment of his father.
I finally understand Anakin in a way I never did before, but it is too late for me to help him. I know the hows and whys of his reactions to those who threatened the Senator, I felt it myself when I held a lightsaber to Magus' throat. That was the point at which I faced my crossroads, and I chose light.
When Anakin's time came, he chose darkness.
I can't blame him for this, not completely. I had Qui-Gon for a mentor; Qui-Gon comforted, supported, and listened when I was confused. Anakin had me, and I did not. In the end, Anakin taught me something about humanity, how life beyond duty can be lived so much more profoundly than I ever knew. Remembering now I can only feel sorrow. I've given him so much less.
I exist here on this empty desert planet and know, however bleak, I still have my life. Ana-...no. I cannot think of him that way. Vader is all that remains, and for all the power he wields over the galaxy, I know he is in a bad way. He doesn't even possess what little I do.
He's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet.
I look at the warming crystal in my hands, one of two remnants that shaped the fibers of our existence. Anakin's pendant, along with the rest of his humanity, were buried with the Senator. Even now, when I realize he's gone, it tears a fresh wound in my heart.
I try to place faith in the Force, but times like these are the hardest. These items, these small wonders of a beautiful life, rest idly in my hand. I think of him again, and lower my eyes with remorse.
His downfall.
My failure.