December 13, 1799.

The retired general and president Washington had fell ill during the spring of 1790, with his condition worsening over the years; he was bedridden.

His loved ones surrounded him the entire time, bringing sorrow and comfort as the man felt death creeping slowly. Washington had no reason to feel fear, he was faced with possible death his entire life. And an illness is what gets him. An almost laughable thing to him.

Washington thought about the war, everything he had learned throughout his life; what he taught, who he had the honor to meet. It was saddening to him, seeing as a few of the men he knew during the war also surrounded him in his final days. Tears and tons of emotions from the usual composed men.

He attempted to reassure them, yet each time he was cut off by a rough cough. The feeling of death drew closer and the man said nothing, not wanting to cause his loved ones more suffering. He spent the last days he had with them to the fullest, used up all his energy and strength just to keep them calm enough.

The morning of December 14 came and he was as weak as ever, barely able to open his eyes. It might’ve been a mistake to use all his energy like that, yet it was worth it. Just to see them smile one last time.