The finest present ever appeared on Stacey Roman’s plate, a golden, hot reminder that her husband is home — home! — from his duties as a soldier.
And, according to Roman family tradition, dad cooks dumplings for breakfast. That’s where Damion Roman was Wednesday: at the stove, with wife and twins watching.
So go ahead and unwrap your presents this morning if you have them, dear reader. It's safe to say that the Romans' best gift was delivered Tuesday night in an echoing high school gymnasium in Toccoa. That's when Roman, a sergeant with the Georgia Army National Guard, reunited with his family.
For Nathaniel and Anaya, the reunion was a surprise present: Neither knew dad was coming home until he and about 100 others assigned to the 876th Engineering Company marched into the gym. Moments later, dad wrapped two big arms around them.
The homecoming underscored an even bigger gift: For the first time in 14 years, every unit in the Georgia guard is home for Christmas.
No place was happier than the gym at Stephens High School in Toccoa, where the company is based. Wives wept, children squealed, husbands wiped at eyes suddenly misted by — what? It must have been humidity from all that rain hammering on the roof.
When they broke ranks, the soldiers sprinted for loved ones. Roman was with his family in a handful of quick strides. Nathaniel buried his head on dad’s shoulder and cried. Anaya gently placed her hand atop his shaved head. Stacey stood out of the way; her hugs would come later.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” said Roman, 35. “I’ve been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes.”
They’d deployed in May, their mission two-fold: train Afghan engineers and remove temporary structures built by the United States military. It was not an easy assignment. The soldiers worked long hours, their ears attuned to the whistles of incoming mortars.
Roman, an electrician who joined the guard five years ago, often thought of his wife, their kids. Nathaniel and Anaya are fourth-graders at Hambrick Elementary. The boy wants to be an engineer; his sister, a scientist.Their parents want them to be good people.
Mom and Dad are natives of Jamaica, from the same town. The two met when they were kids attending church. They joined the youth group “and things went from there,” Roman said.
They were an item until she moved to New York City in 1995. Two years later, he moved to Georgia. They went separate ways — or so each thought. When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center towers in 2001, he reached for a phone. In New York, Stacey’s phone trilled. “Are you OK,” a voice from back home asked. “Are you safe?”
That phone call led to others, each getting progressively longer, progressively intimate. In 2002, she moved to Georgia. In 2004, they married. In 2005, they welcomed their twins into the world.
An industrious guy, Roman pulled wire, strung lights, answered calls when houses went dark. But he wanted more. In 2009, he joined the Army National Guard.
Stacey: “He always wanted to be in the military.”
Damion: "It would pay for college." He's taking engineering classes at Southern Polytechnic State University.
He neglected to tell her, though, that joining the guard could mean deploying to dangerous places. When the company got orders last year to head to Afghanistan, his wife fretted.
“He was well aware of the risks,” she said. “I didn’t know. Sometimes, you have to leave things in God’s hands and hope for the best.”
On May 29, Sgt. Roman kissed his wife and kids goodbye. Returning to an empty home, Stacey prayed.
They stayed in regular touch, each taking advantage of computer technology to remind the other that a world of distance could not separate them.
He’d tell her about the work, the long hours — but said nothing about the occasional mortars that shook the ground in Bagram, where the company was based. She’d tell him about the kids’ test scores, her bank teller’s job, household repairs — but not about her loneliness. Well, not too much.
Nights, she tucked in the kids. “Lord,” Anaya prayed, “bring Daddy home.”
Stacey added a quiet prayer: “Lord, keep him safe.”
One month made way for another; the plumbers, electricians, carpenters and others assigned to take apart a city’s worth of buildings stayed busy. They’d dismantled nearly 500 when the 876th got the news. American and Afghan officials had worked out an agreement cutting short the company’s stay. They’d be home before Christmas.
That day, Stacey’s phone rang. “I’m coming home!” he announced.
They didn’t tell the kids. Instead, they pretended that Daddy wouldn’t be back until spring, as originally planned. When Stacey made the two-hour drive to Toccoa Tuesday afternoon, she told her children they were going to a Christmas party for the families of the 876th’s soldiers. As noted above, that was a grand and glorious lie.
By Wednesday morning, the initial excitement over Roman’s return had leveled off to a sort of domestic giddiness.
Dad was at the stove, as should be. Mom was at his side, as should be. The kids were clamoring to eat, as should be.
And Christmas, that finest time, when presents arrive in the most unexpected ways, had come. As should be.
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