Today I got an email that had this image in it:

After posting it for friends, I got a few comments about sitting with a family member who has passed.

I certainly appreciate that, and that was the first place I went with my reaction, wishing for one more hour with my stepdad. How wonderful would it be to spend a little more time with a loved one who was taken too soon? But I can’t help wondering if it would be too painful. Watching the hour slip by, knowing that another loss was imminent as the fickle clock counted down the minutes. Would it be enough? Would that one hour be in some way transformative enough to offset the following pain?

Or would there never be enough time for all we wished we could say? Would the loss become again a raw wound?

What about spending the time with a friend? A new friend, a relationship unfolding that might use the hour to build something new. An old friend, long unseen due to distance and responsibility. An hour to hug and hold hands and just be together for a short time, a time that would reinforce and deepen a valued connection.

I guess I would most like to spend the hour with myself – from years ago. (Hey, it doesn’t say I can’t; besides there are no rules with these internet memes – why not interpret it however I would like?)

I have found myself lately wishing that I could speak to my younger self. Not to offer warnings or predictions – enough science fiction stories have told me that catastrophe will result from attempts to change the past.

But maybe an hour with the person I used to be might help me to find some of the desire and enthusiasm I once had. I could remind myself what my dreams were. This is not to say that dreams cannot (or should not) change; dreams and goals must be adaptable.

I would, however, like to feel the certainty that I once had in myself. If I trusted myself once, could I talk myself into it again? If I once had hope in the future, could it rub off on my current incarnation?

At what point do we lose hope or begin to doubt that we can accomplish our dreams, however tame or wild they may be? Is it only after life has its capricious way with us? How do some people hold on to themselves with greater determination? What are their secrets? Could an hour with my younger self actually teach me something, show me how to take a deep breath and focus on myself?

Or would I be sidetracked shaking my head at my own absurdity and naivete (and – probably – fashion sense)?