"They're here!" fell the happy cry on our weary ears, at the Toronto airport.

John and I had been waiting with Aya Chachan, her younger sister Amina, Amina's husband Ashraf and their son Mohammad. Waiting for three hours. The plane had landed at 5:30 or so and now it was past 8. Still no sign.

Three hours? That's nothing. Aya had been waiting for almost five years. Another few hours could hardly matter but still, the anticipation was excruciating.

So John and I were sitting, taking a break from standing, when Aya, still standing, saw them through the yawning glass doors at International Arrivals. At her excitement, we jumped but could not keep up with her. She and her sister ran like springboks through the milling crowd, around the stanchions, up the ramp.

And there they were, landed, Aya and Amina's parents and two younger brothers, who have been living in Turkey since 2014 as refugees, having originally come from Mosul, Iraq, taken over by ISIS. Now they were on Canadian soil, walking out of the long prologue and into Chapter One of their new lives in Canada, feet on the ground after a 14-hour flight, but now Aya and Amina were flying — into their arms.

The whole family together again, after years.

For Aya, like a flower turning at long last toward its proper sun, this was a world of joy pouring out of the sky after a darkness, and through an arrival gate into the space of a daughter's grasping arms.

So many hard years, so many tearful nights, swollen up to such a size of painful longing and missing and waiting, then popped like a balloon in a single glorious instant.

In February 2016, I wrote a column about Aya, whom I met covering a march that winter in connection with the Syrian refugee crisis. Some of you might remember. She'd been fast-tracked into Canada on medical/humanitarian grounds because she has Crohn's Disease; she hoped her family would be close behind her.

That was not to be. She was told it could be years. And it was. Back then, four years ago, I wrote a kind of portrait of a refugee, describing Aya's life, her courage, her great determination and natural charm.

Aya Chachan in 2016. | John Rennison/The Hamilton Spectator

I said, "She is 23 now and has this quiet power which, when I think of it, must come partly out of the necessities of coping, against the madness of geopolitical conflict, but also out of the vaults of some indwelling depth of character."

Even newly arrived to Canada, she took the time to volunteer at the Wesley Centre.

Since then, Aya completed all her language and math requirements, worked for a legal office, worked in a variety store, volunteered, perfected her English (which was already very good) and enrolled in Mohawk's chemical engineering program. Her father is an engineer.

She is near the end of that program, doing a co-op placement, overseeing lab tests, at a medical marijuana company. She acquired a car because the job's in Guelph. I know all this because we've kept in touch. Because the column, no credit to me, started something roiling. And because no one who knows Aya can let go.

Last summer, I stood under a tent at Gage Park and watched Aya become sworn in as a Canadian citizen. My eyes fill with tears just writing that. David Christopherson gave the most stirring speech. We ate cake. But not Aya. Because of her Crohn's, which, by the way, she manages very well.

There was so much response to that column; good, caring people, all kinds, all ages, who stepped forward to try to help.

The John I mentioned above, waiting with us at the airport, is John Ariyo, manager of community initiatives, City of Hamilton. Several others too — Chris Cutler from the mayor's office; Vivyan Salih from the Immigrants Working Centre — but especially John, who worked so hard for Aya. So many people helped, unasked, just simply stepping forward.

It took so long. We would meet with Aya, have lunch. She always tried to be upbeat; sometimes she would send me an email. Because she missed her family, to her very core, especially her mother. They would Skype each other every day. And when the call was over she would cry, sometimes for hours.

One email said, "I want to know what my sin is to hurt so much every night."

And now. And now they are here. Unbelievably, the time has come. First, and this helped, Aya's beloved younger sister Amina came with her husband and child. Their claims got processed earlier. He worked for National Steel Car. He was also an engineer in Iraq. Amina is studying cardiovascular technology program at Mac/Mohawk. They're all so smart. Both Aya's parents have PhDs. Her mother is a professor of Arabic language.

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They are all Hamiltonians now. And their story is ours. The people who came through for them. When I met Aya's parents they expressed to me and John the most soulful thank you I think I have ever heard. But I did very very little. You did.

And, so, dear readers, if you ever wondered what happened to the young woman I wrote about four years ago, now you know. I've never seen her so happy. Take a bow, my city. You had much to do with that.

Clarification: The headline was updated Feb. 1 to remove an erroneous word.