Eight years may seem like just a number. For Sylvia Arana, they were not. She turned them into days. One by one. She counted 2,920 days of beatings, fear, silence and domestic violence. Only then did she feel the number reflected the true magnitude of what she had lived through.
That is how the title of her new book — written years later — was born: “Muda 2920 Days.”
On the book cover a heart monitor appears. The line rises in irregular peaks before fading into a horizontal line against a dusty pink background.
“In my case, it became horizontal, not because I died, but because I remained with that emotional damage for many years afterward,” says Sylvia, a 53-year-old Mexican immigrant and mother of two.
Before presenting “Muda 2920 días” at the Consulate General of México in Phoenix in late June, she wrote “Muerte en pena” in 2021, a book that tells the story of a mother confronting the imprisonment of her only two children in Arizona.
That mother is her.
“My daughter committed a robbery while under the influence of drugs. As she tried to flee from the police, she crashed into another vehicle and killed someone,” she says. “My son had his own struggles as well, but seeing drugs in my children’s faces was the hardest thing for me, apart from the prison itself.”
Her son was sentenced for separate crimes, including armed robbery.
Sylvia arrived in Arizona in 1987. She was 14 years old. She was a young immigrant from Nogales, Sonora, who did not speak English. Abuse followed her from childhood: first at home, then at school because she did not know the language, and later in her relationship with her partner.
She thought her children had been spared because they had never suffered the beatings or psychological abuse she endured. Over time, she came to understand that violence is also passed on through what children witness. Today, she sees its consequences in the paths her two children’s lives took.
“I thought they (my children) had no excuse because I never mistreated them. But they were also carrying everything they had witnessed, even though they were never physically abused,” she says. “Only now do I understand that violence engulfs the entire family.”
Her daughter, 29, and her son, 34, remain incarcerated in Arizona. Sylvia soon realized she was not alone. There were other parents living through the same absence, the same questions and the same grief.
That realization led her to found Mosaicos Inc., an organization where parents of incarcerated people find mutual support through sessions led by therapists and psychologists.
“When I went through what happened with my two children, I realized there are hundreds of thousands of people incarcerated in the state of Arizona, in prisons and immigration detention centers,” she says.
Her voice fades at times, as though every word carries the weight of that reality.
The number of people who go to jail annually in Arizona is estimated at 117,000, according to a 2019 analysis by the Prison Policy Initiative, a research center that advocates for criminal justice reform. At a rate of 1,680 unique jail admissions per 100,000 residents, Arizona ranks slightly higher than the national average.
For Sylvia, the numbers are personal.
“Every incarcerated person has a mother and a father,” she says.
Arizona Luminaria spoke with Sylvia about her new book, her previous publications and the work she does supporting parents of incarcerated children. This interview has been edited for clarity and length.
Q: Why is it important to write this kind of book?
A: Since my children went to prison, it has raised many questions for me about why they are there and what role I may have played in their development. I used to think the violence was only directed at me, that I was the only one being beaten.
Q: You’ve become a speaker, written books and created a support group. Do you feel you’ve been able to heal from the abuse?
A: I’m still trying to. If you don’t talk about it, it’s very difficult. I felt ashamed and believed it was something I had brought upon myself. Sometimes the first things people say are, “You’re stupid because you like being there,” or “You like being beaten.” So you stay quiet because you feel even more guilty.
But we also have to take responsibility for how much we’re willing to endure. I didn’t take that responsibility. I had the opportunity to leave. I should have sought emotional help, but I didn’t. There are many factors that leave you questioning everything.
Q: Is this book meant to serve as a guide for women, or what is its purpose?
A: The message of the book is about forgiveness and learning. There are many women living with domestic violence, and we stay there. My book is not advice; it’s a story that shows a person can go through so much and still move forward.
The proof is that I stayed silent for 20 years. Today, I choose to speak because I left behind fear, shame and the stigma imposed by society. If my story can serve as an example, that’s wonderful, because I’m still healing.
Q: Why did you found Mosaicos Inc.?
A: I want to help people like me who have children in prison. Parents come to us whose children are in detention centers and who are experiencing the same absence. We are growing. On July 7, we will open our second location in Chandler.
Q: What do you share in the group?
A: We meet together. We bring in a psychologist, and we do activities around different topics, such as loss. Grief is often treated as something that follows a death. We are also grieving because we cannot see our children.
We hear that there are too many deaths in the county’s jails from drug use, people who are supposedly dying by suicide, and homicides. There are many situations that, as parents, deeply alarm us.
Q: Will you share more about the book you wrote dedicated to parents of incarcerated people?
A: I wrote “Death in Grief.” It was in 2021, when my daughter was sentenced. Facing a $1 million bail was incredibly difficult. Every time I met with the attorney, I was told she could face the death penalty.
Credit: Sylvia Arana
That was one of the reasons my daughter accepted a guilty plea. Better to accept 23 years in prison. I see how sentencing can depend on the color of your skin: the same crimes, yet a world of difference in the number of years people receive.
When you listen to parents talk about not having the money to hire a lawyer, and you see that the sentence Paco Pérez received is 20 years longer than John Smith’s for the same crime, you ask yourself: Why? That’s where the frustration comes from. We try to support one another.
Q: What message would you give to women who have gone through experiences like yours?
A: Give yourselves the opportunity to see yourselves as human beings. Give yourselves the opportunity to live. I lost that opportunity for many years, but I realized that if I’m still here, it’s for a purpose. We have to give ourselves the chance to believe in ourselves and take the initiative to seek help.
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