I first read about Pompeii in a National Geographic Magazine as a
teenager.  Mt. Vesuvius buried the city of 20,000 with ash and
lava in AD 79. Of all the photos in the article, it was the
photos of body casts that struck me most. They were so detailed,
showing faces and bodies of people of all ages.  One young woman
lying on her side revealed a swelled stomach of an early
pregnancy.  Residents of Pompeii were overcome by ash and
suffocated, then buried by lava.

Archeologists had a hard time finding the lost city.  It had been
a seaside community but the lava flow had extended the shore
several miles into the sea.  During excavation of the site,
hollows were found in the ground.  Plaster was poured into these
hollows which revealed perfect representations of the victims of
the disaster.

At 40 then, I walked the city ruins and saw all of the sights
everyone sees.  There were store fronts, the large square, and
homes.  I took a great photo of a frontless shop, the ground
inside completely covered with red poppies.  I took a baggie out
of my daypack and gathered up some ash - still covering the
ground - for a souvenir.

The whole excursion was really interesting, but a little unreal.
It was hard for me to comprehend that this town, the same size as
my home town, had been completely buried by lava.  Much of the
city was yet to be excavated.

The tour ended at a storage area for artifacts.  It reminded me
of a lumber yard – big open wooden shelves with a half roof.
That’s where I saw the body casts:  the pregnant young woman, a
dog in agony, a couple lying together, and a mother holding her
child.  The casts were beautiful.  I looked closely at the souls
represented.  These casts on the shelves and on the ash ground
were very personal, hiding nothing about unfortunate people and
the death they experienced.  The expressions on their faces, and
even their wrinkles were easy to see.  I was transported back in
time to that terrible day.  I didn’t take pictures, feeling the
need to express my respect and not intrude any further than I
already had.

We take lots of pictures and videos during the special moments in
our lives.  Sometimes I wonder if our most important memories are
experienced through a lens instead of by a naked eye.  When a
child takes his first step and when he graduates, mom and dad
fumble with the camera.

There are some moments that I’ll never forget; I don’t need a
camera.  Those moments would be ruined if a camera were between
my eye and my life.  My memory tells me more about my experiences
than photos ever could.  Some memories demand our respectful
attention, and reward us with something more than a photo.