I was supposed to be sent away

There was nothing in his mind beyond his troops and that only he could save them. Save; he did so much saving now but it would never be enough to make him whole. He felt his lightsaber blade slice through metal—there was always a slight kick on contact, like a drill hitting a hard spot—but he craved more. He craved destruction, not to prove to himself that he had such huge power, but simply to hold the chaos at bay. I didn't save my mother. He had the strength and skill to wipe out legions of droids, but he hadn't used it for the person who mattered most. Anakin tore into droid after droid, killing on upstroke and downstroke, spinning to take out droids rushing him from behind, rolling to scythe his way through their legs. Hot hydraulic fluid spattered on his face like blood. Why didn't I go back for my mother, when I could have done this, and this, and this?