Tom Homan’s wife, Elizabeth, didn’t mince words when Donald Trump came calling in 2024. “If you don’t go back, we’re going to get divorced because I’m sick and tired of you waking up every day pissed off about not being able to do anything,” she told him, according to Tom’s own recounting on Donald Trump Jr.’s Rumble show.
That blunt honesty captures a marriage that has endured more than four decades. The couple, who met during high school and married in 1980, has weathered a career in immigration enforcement that has made Tom one of America’s most polarizing figures. Now serving as Trump’s border czar, the 63-year-old finds himself separated from the woman who pushed him back into public service—not by choice, but by necessity.
“My wife’s living separately from me right now, mainly because I work so many hours, but mostly because of the death threats against me,” Tom revealed during a recent interview on the New York Post’s “Pod Force One” podcast with columnist Miranda Devine. “She’s someplace else. I see her as much as I can, but the death threats against me and my family are outrageous.”
A High School Romance That Lasted
Elizabeth Homan has spent her marriage largely out of the spotlight. According to biographical accounts from the County Office, the couple’s love story began in their teenage years in upstate New York. They’ve been together ever since, building a life that includes four children.
Before focusing on raising their family, Elizabeth worked as a flight attendant for American Airlines. She maintains no public social media presence and rarely appears in interviews or political settings. Tom has acknowledged her preference for privacy, often describing her as his biggest supporter behind the scenes.
That support proved crucial when Trump called. “Took a huge pay cut,” Tom admitted, “but my wife said if you don’t go back, we’re going to get divorced.”
The Phone Call That Changed Everything
The moment came during what should have been a relaxing dinner out. Tom’s phone rang, and when he looked down, the screen displayed one word: “POTUS.”
“My wife says, ‘Uh oh, he’s asking you to come back, isn’t he?'” Tom recalled. He stepped outside to take President Trump’s call. “The first thing he said to me was, ‘You’ve been bitching about it for four years. Well, come back and fix it.’ So how do you say no, right?”
Elizabeth knew what accepting meant. She’d watched her husband climb the ladder at Immigration and Customs Enforcement, eventually serving as acting ICE director during Trump’s first administration. She’d been there when his nomination for the permanent position stalled in the Senate in 2018, leading to his retirement. And she’d witnessed his frustration during the four years of the Biden administration.
But she also understood something else: her husband needed this. “I wake up every day like a kid in a candy store,” Tom has said about his current role. “I got the greatest president of my lifetime down the hall who gets it.”
A Family Rooted in Law Enforcement
Tom’s commitment to immigration enforcement runs in his DNA. Born in West Carthage, New York, to parents Frederick Leroy Homan and Doris I. Gibeau, he grew up watching his father and grandfather serve as police officers.
According to genealogical records, Tom has a brother, Kevin, and five sisters: Robin, Cheri, Michele, Kimberly, and Darlene. This family background shaped his career path spanning six presidential administrations since 1984.
Tom and Elizabeth raised their four children—he’s referenced spending time with “my boys” growing up—in this environment of public service. But the cost has grown steeper with time.
The Price of Public Service
“I spent a lot of time with my boys growing up, but as I got more and more — climbed the ladder of what I’ve done with ICE director and now back — I don’t see my family very much,” Tom admitted during the podcast interview.
The separation from Elizabeth represents the most visible sacrifice, but it’s far from the only one. The death threats that forced the couple apart have become what Tom calls “outrageous.” The threats aren’t just directed at him—they target his entire family, creating a security situation that made living together untenable.
Despite the physical distance, Tom maintains that Elizabeth remains his anchor. When he accepted Trump’s offer to return to government service, he did so knowing it would strain their marriage in new ways. Yet her earlier threat—delivered with characteristic bluntness—revealed a truth about their relationship: she’d rather have him doing the work he feels called to do than watch him suffer in retirement.
Standing Firm Amid Controversy
Tom’s role as border czar has made him a lightning rod. Pope Francis condemned the administration’s immigration policies, writing that “what is built on the basis of force, and not on the truth about the equal dignity of every human being, begins badly and will end badly.”
Tom’s response? “I wish he’d stick to the Catholic Church and fix that and leave border enforcement to us. He’s got a wall around the Vatican, does he not?”
He’s also clashed with Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez over a webinar informing migrants of their rights. Civil rights groups have protested his tactics, and recent fatal shootings in Minnesota have intensified scrutiny.
Through it all, Elizabeth has remained steadfast, even from a distance. She knew from the beginning that saying yes to Trump meant saying yes to controversy and danger.
Looking Ahead
President Trump recently announced he’s sending Tom to Minnesota to take direct control of federal immigration operations following controversial deaths in Minneapolis. For Elizabeth, it means more time apart. For their children, it means a father whose work demands nearly all his attention.
“I felt a duty to come back. I’ve done this my whole career,” Tom explained. “I know how to help. I know how to fix it.”
Behind the controversial border czar stands a woman who has supported him for more than 40 years—even when that support means living separately for their own safety. It’s a love story that began in high school and now plays out against one of America’s most contentious political issues. Elizabeth Homan may avoid the spotlight, but her willingness to make painful sacrifices tells its own story about the personal cost of public service in divided times.
