Charismatic Hamilton woman dies from addiction while helping others fight their demons

To all who knew her, Rebecca Morris-Miller seemed a force of nature, a woman driven to help people survive drug addiction and the collateral damage it spawns.

But in the end, for all her dynamism, self-awareness, and battle-scarred experiences, Morris-Miller could not save herself.

She was found by a friend in her bedroom on Monday afternoon, Oct. 31, in her home on Sherman Avenue South near Main Street East. She had likely died early that morning, or overnight.

Police officers told her mother, Sally Morris, that her daughter had likely died from a drug overdose. Results from an autopsy are not yet completed.

She had turned 40 on Oct. 3.

Someone else's demons? Hand them over, (Rebecca) will deal with them," her mother said. But her own were too much."

A lot of us felt like Becky was indestructible, she had that presence about her," said friend and colleague Barb Swietek. There is grief, and disbelief, that she is gone ... We were all blown away by her genius and the passion she had for helping people. She was a warrior."

Swietek worked with Morris-Miller at Grenfell Ministries, a Hamilton faith-based non-profit organization that supports people facing substance use issues, mental illness, and homelessness. It also works to reduce stigma attached to the marginalized, including those recently incarcerated.

Morris-Miller founded the organization, forging it from the darkness and pain she experienced in her own life.

She once told The Spectator its genesis came from conversations she had with inmates she served time with in the bucket" - jail, in Owen Sound, the city 190 kilometres northwest of Hamilton on Georgian Bay where she grew up.

Grenfell was born in a cell," she said. We were tossing around ideas, I said, We should start a ministry.'"

From that seed, Grenfell has grown to employ nearly 50, and offer a variety of programs including an overdose hotline that started with a local pilot project aimed at addressing the opioid epidemic, and is now a national program called NORS (National Overdose Response Service.)

In the public talks she gave, Morris-Miller spoke of a childhood she loved, growing up with her older sister, Lisa, and riding horses and attending French immersion schools.

But after using drugs in her early 20s, and ultimately heroin and fentanyl, an addiction was triggered that she was able to tame for periods of time, but never kick.

Two years ago, while going full bore with Grenfell, publicizing the overdose hotline, and free of drugs for two years, Morris-Miller still held no illusions about her own mountain to climb.

She was, she told The Spec, clean but not quite serene." She added: We are all one decision away from a new life."

She described her organization's philosophy as loving people where they're at."

But she also carried that mission with her around the clock, taking men and women under her wing, inviting them to stay for periods in her home.

One week ago, she took in a man recently released from jail, who has addiction issues.

She was adamant that he would not be sent to a shelter," said Swietek. She gave of herself to make sure folks struggling had the best chance."

Morris-Miller was working day and night, struggling to find new funding sources for Grenfell, sending colleagues strategy emails in the middle of the night. She had also recently gone through a relationship breakup.

She had fallen back into substance use. Friends knew about it. They offered support and encouragement. She said she wasn't too far down that road and still doing OK.

I knew how the breakup would feel for her," said Grenfell colleague Katie Brown, who has been free of drug use eight years. We have the same mental illness (of addiction) so I was worried."

Brown heard the news of her death on Halloween night. It's not the first time she has lost a loved one to addiction.

I dropped to my knees and cried," she said. It feels like everything is knocked out from underneath you."

Morris-Miller will be buried in Owen Sound. A memorial service will be held at some point in Hamilton.

Swietek vows to keep her legacy alive. She touched so many people's lives."

Morris-Miller had four sons, ages 12, 15, 20, and 21.

Unable to care for them due to her addiction, she lost custody long ago, and her mother and stepfather raised them in Owen Sound.

She loved those kids," said her mother. She talked to them on the phone all the time and came up every other weekend. They were her passion; they came first."

A GoFundMe campaign has been launched to support the kids.

Morris-Miller last saw her sons, and her mother, last Saturday night in Owen Sound.

Becky had dinner with us," said her mother Sally Morris. I wanted her to stay, I could tell things weren't good. She said no, I have to go home, I have things to do. She left. I wish she hadn't, but she did."

Her words over the phone sound calm and measured.

She is, she said, in some kind of freeze mode. It all doesn't seem real.

You go through life with a grown child with a drug addiction, she said, and the thought lingers in your mind that, one day, something terrible will happen.

But even still, when Owen Sound police officers came to her door Monday night, her first thought was that one of the boys was in trouble for throwing a baseball through a window or something.

It took me a long time to love her where she's at, to stop telling her don't do that,'" she said. I'm glad I was able to see her, and hug her, and love her without that judgment ... There was nothing I could do. She was her own person. A fiery person, with an incredible sense of humour. No one could make you laugh like she did. We will all miss that."

Jon Wells is a feature writer at The Spectator. jwells@thespec.com