Along the Lines of Endings

A friend of mine wants to write a book in which the main character is given twenty four hours left to live. At this point, he has the choice to either relive twenty four hours of his life, or to live twenty four hours in the present. Either way the character will die at the end of the twenty four hours.
Quite frankly I don't know which I would choose.
In a lot of ways, I feel like the character might if he didn't have the choice, and knew he was going to die in a matter of twenty four hours. I am not dying, as far as I am aware, but I will be leaving everything I've ever known in two days' time. I know what I would fill those hours with, if it were up to me.
I would have him with me for every second, holding my hand or holding my waist, and giving me the strength that he always does. There would be two others with us, close friends that I will always cherish and who have stood by me through everything. I would want to see everyone I am leaving behind, and let them know I will miss them. I would take pictures of each person, and pictures of places that hold happy memories.
I would spend the rest of the time with just him, alone like we were that one night. His lips would caress mine, and his strong hands would hold me close. His softly whispered secrets would make me smile and make me cry, and we would make each second we had together last in the most beautiful way. He would laugh helplessly when my hands brushed his back too lightly with a smile that will forever be engrained in my memory. There would be precious moments where we just lay there, his cheek against mine and our fingers laced together, the silence wrapping around us like a light in a cave. We would share what we could with each other with no worries of consequences because now was all we had. He would touch my face and run his fingers through my hair, his soft lips touching my cheek, neck, and shoulder. His breath and fingers would trace patterns on my skin, leaving tingling paths in their wake. Every last second would be spent in his arms, sharing myself with him in exchange for bits of himself.
And when it came time to say goodbye, he would kiss me fiercely, sad and upset and longing to keep me longer... and he would promise me something. He would promise to see me when he could, and to wait for me. He would promise to wait the one year that is going to separate us, and when that year was up, I would come back, and we would share our last hours together all over again, only this time... they would be our first.