This story is part of The Dallas Morning News’ homicide project focused on sharing the stories of all people killed in Dallas in 2024.
After Avery Norwood helped lay so many servicemen to rest as a member of the Air Force Honor Guard, it was only right that the guard did the same for him at his September funeral.
Avery came from a military family and was determined to join the Air Force, enrolling after only one year in junior college. The tall and slender young man was quiet and loved a good book, but contained a confidence that carried him through basic training, onto the honor guard and then to the guard’s elite drill team.
It wasn’t a seamless journey. When Avery didn’t make the honor guard the first time he applied, he resolved to practice eight hours a day.
“You want it?” his mom, Phyllis Norwood, remembers asking him. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
His parents took note of his increased discipline. Their son, who had never ironed before, always kept his uniform perfectly starched and got haircuts every two to three days to ensure he was ready to perform.
Phyllis worried, but he always reassured her with a simple, “I got this.”
After four years in the service, Avery spent years working as a long-haul trucker. His dad, Devlin Norwood, said he was a passionate lover of chicken wings, but got to explore new cuisines in his years on the road.
Avery started to have some mental health issues and Devlin said they tried to get him help through the VA, but he wouldn’t go to the programming consistently and ended up homeless. He didn’t always want to accept help, but Devlin would drive around and check on Avery on his way to work nearly every day, bringing food or clothes.
When he didn’t see Avery for multiple days in a row in April, he started calling hospitals. Parkland Memorial Hospital confirmed an Avery was in the ICU and Devlin rushed over, finding his son with his head shaven and part of his skull removed for the brain swelling.
Avery, 34, had been sleeping on the street when he was found beaten in the 700 block of W. Mockingbird Lane and sustained serious injuries, Dallas police said.
What followed was four months of going back and forth between hospitals and rehab facilities. Phyllis, who works as a medical coder, came in every day at 3:15 p.m. after getting off work and would stay overnight. She kept detailed notes of every nurse and therapist’s name, lab results and changes in his condition.
“If they wanted to know something, they looked at me,” she said.
Through her consistent presence in his hospital rooms, Phyllis got to know Avery’s medical staff. She remembers who cleaned his ears, who learned his communication signals as he struggled to speak, and who sat with her on his final day.
Multiple nurses and therapists told her they got particularly attached to this patient, with one saying in a letter that caring for Avery had reignited their passion for health care.
“Even in his silence, he speaks volumes,” Phyllis said.
Avery had been improving and his family was making preparations for him to come home when he was found unresponsive in his bed on the morning of Aug. 21. Doctors and nurses spent hours trying to get his body to function on its own again, using two crash carts, but were unsuccessful.
“I did get to tell him I love him … and I was proud of him,” Phyllis said. “He just kind of looked at me and closed his eyes like he was going to sleep.”
His family decided to bury him in the honor guard uniform he had fastidiously cared for. When Phyllis saw him in the casket, she noticed a small issue. His hat and sunglasses were on, even though the honor guard only wears them outdoors.
“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” she remembered thinking. “He has to be right.”
He was buried with his hat on his chest.
