Rev. Dr. Nelson Johnson, a fighter, mentor and peace seeker, died Feb. 2. Here, he speaks to a crowd in Raleigh last March.

My friend and teacher, Rev. Dr. Nelson Johnson died Feb. 2. It’s hard to imagine the Movement without his booming voice at the podium as he worked for peace and justice, and without his quiet wisdom when speaking to a few or just one.

But as Bishop William Barber pointed out at his home-going, Rev. Nelson left a legacy. He leaves two daughters and two grandchildren devoted to carrying on his work. He leaves two generations of ministers and civil rights workers he has mentored and led to carry on his work. He leaves the legacy of the Greensboro Truth and Reconciliation Commission, modeled after that of South Africa, but without its power to force testimony from anyone.

Rev. Nelson left people like me, who have been influenced not just by his woirds, but by his life, and that of his devoted and equal partner, Joyce Hobson Johnson.

Of course, this time of year, my thoughts always turn to Mike and the horror of watching my child die.

But yesterday reminded me: Mike left a legacy.

He left a legacy of sobriety even under the most horrifying circumstances.

He left a legacy of silliness, where dozens of people, maybe more, pause every April 1, don something plaid and eat a Cadbury Creme Egg in his memory.

My son left a legacy of dignity, even in the face of medical neglect and humiliaton.

Seventeen years ago, I vowed to fight for health care justice as long as I need to, and I continue to do that.

Imagine that. I am part of my son’s legacy.