Because God Was There. Belma Diana Vardy

soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.

      PSALM 94:17, ESV

      Ihadn’t always lived with my grandparents in Germany. Their daughter Ingeborg, a stunningly beautiful photographer sought by major publications in Europe, had moved to Canada in the early 1950s. That’s where I was born and lived for the first 26 months of my life.

      When I was young, I didn’t know much about my mother—only snatches of what I had heard from my grandparents. But when I was older, I found out more about her from my dad. As a result, I have partially come to understand her enigmatic personality and have been able to reconstruct events in her life with some insight. Here is Ingeborg’s story the way I see it.

      Just like me, Ingeborg enjoyed an idyllic childhood with my grandparents. But also, like many young women who suffered the effects of the war years in Europe, Ingeborg became a troubled soul. I adored my grandparents, and it was hard for me to understand how someone raised in their home could be so different from them. I experienced the warmth, stability and love of their home for six and a half years, and I knew what her childhood had been like. It was wonderful.

      Oma would have prayed to Jesus with her daughter every night just like she did with me. Ingeborg would have known the serenity of playing in the garden with her dolls while her parents pulled weeds and grew delicious fresh fruit and veggies. She would have smelled the aromas of my Oma’s kitchen and known the security of sitting at their table. It was a post-Victorian environment—very proper and exceedingly happy. Unfortunately, she wasn’t raised entirely in their home.

      EFFECTS OF WAR

      Fearing for her safety in Germany’s political climate of the early 40s, my grandparents had sent 11-year-old Ingeborg to northern Germany to live with friends of her great-aunt. Their desire was to protect her from the harm that could come to young girls during the war. Their efforts backfired.

      Before they sent Ingeborg away, she was a sweet, kind, lovely, talkative little girl who enjoyed life with parents who loved her very much. Oma and Opa used to say she was like me when I was with them. But something devastating must have happened to her in the eight years she was away. The war destroyed her.

      At 18 Ingeborg returned transformed: sullen, angry, withdrawn, depressed, lacking trust, and quick to lie. She had shut down emotionally and found it difficult to love and be happy. It’s anyone’s guess what might have happened. She refused to speak of it and was never healed from the psychological and emotional wounds she had experienced. Oma lost her daughter, and it broke her heart.

      What happened?

      As I now reflect on the circumstances, it seems she had become hardened to life like one who has experienced deep trauma or abuse. Perhaps she tried to protect herself from men or soldiers through lies. I can only imagine. Even if she hadn’t been abused, she would likely have felt abandoned, rejected and unloved by her parents. She was young and wouldn’t have understood their motives for sending her away.

      DISILLUSIONED

      When she was 22 years of age the pain of her past had receded just enough to allow Ingeborg to fall in love and become engaged, but the relationship dissolved three years later, and she was devastated. It was more than she could bear.

      In an effort to escape the memories, she left Germany and immigrated to Canada, only to discover that pain can’t be healed by distance. Heartbreak and trauma kept her bound in chains of suffering. Her effort to distance herself from them was futile, but in her attempt to escape she turned her back not only on painful things but also on the good things of her past—the solid foundation her parents had laid and the abilities that had brought her success in her photography career. She tried to restart her life on empty.

      THE ICE PRINCESS

      Ingeborg settled in Toronto. Occasionally on weekends she accompanied friends to a dance hall where she sat at a table, her long legs crossed, smoke curling from her lips around her shoulder-length dark hair. Detached, reserved and frozen, she surveyed the activity in the smoke-hazed room but refused to join in.

      One of those nights Ingeborg deliberately ignored a handsome young man laughing at a nearby table with his friends. Dark and confident, he attempted to catch her eye with a friendly grin. Twice she noticed him looking at her, but she averted her glance quickly to signal disinterest. One of his friends pointed toward her and said, “Her? Everybody asks her to dance, but she always turns them down.”

      He was undaunted. Without taking his eyes off her, he pushed away from the table. “She’ll dance with me,” he said with a smile. He stopped before her, extended his hand and waited. Ingeborg stared into his friendly eyes, put her hand in his and rose to dance. At five feet seven, she was slender and graceful. Bari Basar (Ejubowic)—then known as Gino Ejubowic—moved her masterfully onto the dance floor, where his skills as a ballroom dance instructor showcased the beauty of the mysterious ice princess.

      Bari Basar was raised in Yugoslavia, where his father had been a lawyer—the wealthiest man in the country. He had owned restaurants, hotels and many blocks of buildings. In 1945, however, when King Petar surrendered to Tito and the Communist People’s Republic of Yugoslavia was established, Bari’s father was targeted because of his wealth and education and thrown in jail. His properties were confiscated by the state and his businesses were allocated as state-owned enterprises.

      Young Bari was next to be arrested, but to facilitate his escape, he changed his name to Ejubowic and fled north to Austria. He was assigned to Refugee Camp Number Five in Klappenberg, where he learned German and lived from 1945 to 1948. When camp residents discovered his talents, they begged him to teach them to dance the Viennese waltz, the English waltz, the foxtrot—all the fashionable dances of the day.

      In the meantime, Bari’s mother fled with his two sisters to Turkey. Once Bari’s dad was released from jail, he left Yugoslavia and moved to Turkey as well. It would be 19 years before Bari would be reunited with his family.

      In 1948, when Bari could return to Germany, he chose Salzburg in hopes of finding a job. He had saved some money, and in 1950 he attended Nurnberg University to study electrical engineering—an undertaking he interrupted for a trip to Canada. He hoped to work in Canada for a short time, make some money to send home to his family, learn English and return to Germany to resume life there.

      Bari’s plans failed. He became entangled with Ingeborg.

      TRAPPED

      It was 1954. Bari and Ingeborg spent time together, and he noticed her instability. A nurturing, helpful and compassionate man, he wanted to help her develop a stronger sense of herself, but her woundedness ran deeper than he realized, and his attempt to “fix” her was unsuccessful. In a flash of manipulative insecurity, she vowed that if he wouldn’t marry her, she would kill herself.

      Bari felt trapped. Unwilling for Ingeborg to face such a fate, he rescued her. “I saved her life,” he always said thereafter. They married that year in October. Unfortunately it was not for love. Their relationship was grounded in Ingeborg’s manipulation and Bari’s pity.

      Ingeborg didn’t tell her parents she was getting married. Even if they had been in Canada, she likely wouldn’t have invited them to the wedding. When Oma and Opa found out their daughter had married without telling them, they were grief-stricken. Oma wept the tears only parents abandoned and rejected by a child they love could understand.

      In hopes of rebuilding a relationship, Oma and Opa invited the newlyweds to visit. They knew nothing about their son-in-law and worried how they might communicate with him so were pleasantly surprised when Bari greeted them at the airport speaking German.

      Oma and Opa adored their daughter’s husband. He was handsome, witty and outgoing. He loved people, and people loved him. While Bari engaged everyone in the room, the ice princess sat in a corner hidden behind a book. She rejected attention and let people know she needed no one.

      HOPE DEFERRED

      In their quiet moments alone, Oma and Opa talked about how wonderful it would be if Ingeborg and Bari would settle in Germany. They contemplated how they