I live in rural Pennsylvania, where small towns and boroughs are woven together and it feels like
time stands still. Just outside one of these boroughs, my borough, sits a medium-to-maximum
security women’s prison, part of the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections.
The facility resembles an early 1900s college campus, built from beautiful mountain stone. It sits
in the middle of a wide, open green field, backed by tree-covered hills. A long, tree-lined road
leads to a stately front building with a steeple. If not for the barbed wire fencing surrounding the
property, you might never guess it is a prison.
For the past ten years, I’ve driven past this prison on my way to work. I work close enough to
hear its bell ring each day at noon. For most of that time, it was simply part of the landscape—
something I passed so often it became invisible.
If I had only known that a piece of my heart was inside, waiting for me to find her.
In late 2025, I did.
Through our Carly’s Warrior advocacy group, I was introduced to a young woman named Jamie
Silvonek, who is incarcerated at the facility. Given how close I am, I was encouraged to reach
out. I did in December, and she responded immediately. Since then, Jamie has become a deeply
important part of my life. Now, instead of only one daughter in Carly, I now have two, which I
love with my entire heart.
Describing Jamie’s story as heartbreaking is an understatement. In March 2016, at just
THIRTEEN years old, she was involved in the death of her mother, committed by her abusive
twenty-year-old boyfriend. Shortly after turning fourteen, Jamie was tried as an adult. She was
denied transfer to juvenile court and ultimately accepted a plea agreement sentencing her to 35
years to life, ten years above the statutory minimum.
For the past decade, Jamie has never denied her involvement. Instead, she has carried the weight
of that night with profound grief and accountability.
But the person I know today is not the child defined by that moment.
I speak with Jamie several times a week. I have visited her in person and continue to stay
connected through video calls. The first time I saw her, just like when I first saw Carly, is a
moment I will always cherish. The young woman who came through the door had long blonde
hair, a beautiful smile, and a spark of excitement in her eyes. Our first hug is something that is
hard to explain, it was so comfortable and normal as though I had known her forever and hugged
her 1000 times before. I felt calm finally having her right in front of me.
It may sound cliché, but she truly lit up the room. Jamie is an extraordinarily bright light in a
very dark place. She is kind, respectful, intelligent, and deeply self-aware. I even noticed the correctional officers smile when I said I was there to see Jamie and when she walked into the
room.
Jamie has transformed her life in prison into something deeply meaningful. She is a poet and
writer, contributing articles on prison reform and participating in podcasts. She has published a
book of poetry, Marginal Verse. She is also an activist and prison abolitionist, currently taking
college courses through Ohio University. Perhaps her most meaningful role, she is part of a
service dog training program at the prison, contributing compassion and purpose into something
that reaches far beyond the walls that confine her.
For two years at a time, Jamie is responsible for raising and training a puppy. Her four-legged
child is with her all day every day and even sleeps in the same room as her. She teaches basic
obedience, service skills, and provides daily care, structure, and unconditional love. These dogs
are eventually adopted by individuals, helping them live safer and more independent lives. In
every real sense, she is already contributing positively to society.
Through this program, Jamie has learned responsibility in a way she never had the chance to as a
child. She is nurturing, patient, and committed, qualities that directly benefit others.
Jamie, like Carly, has the full, unwavering support of her family. Her maternal grandparents,
father, aunt, and several close friends, both from her childhood and those she has met through
her activism, visit her every month, and she remains in constant contact with them.
Like Carly, that kind of consistent love and presence speaks volumes. It reflects not only who
Jamie is today, but who she has always been at her core. These are not children who came from a
lack of love, but children who became entangled in circumstances far beyond their emotional and
developmental capacity to navigate.
And yet, she remains incarcerated under a sentence imposed when she was barely fourteen years
old.
In May 2025, the Juvenile Law Center filed a commutation petition on Jamie’s behalf. Reading
that petition, and the numerous and impressive letters of support included, was overwhelming.
Her acknowledgment of her actions, her remorse, and the grief she carries are undeniable. I
added my own letter in support, because I have seen firsthand who she is today.
If Jamie were released, she would not be a danger to society. She would be an asset to it. And if
her commutation is denied, we are not protecting the public, we are losing someone who has
already proven her capacity for growth, responsibility, and compassion. How much do I believe
in both her and Carly? If either one of them walked out of prison today my door will be open for
them.
Through my relationships with Jamie and Carly, I have come to understand something that feels
impossible to ignore: We are holding children to adult standards for actions committed before they had the capacity to
fully understand them.
In Pennsylvania, there is no minimum age for trying a child as an adult. At the same time, our
laws recognize that children are not equipped to make adult decisions. They cannot drive until
sixteen. They cannot vote until eighteen. They cannot legally drink alcohol until twenty-one.
Yet a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old can be sentenced to decades, or even life, in prison. If we
believe children are not ready to take on the responsibilities of adulthood, why are we so willing
to give them its harshest punishments?
The contradiction is beyond comprehension.
Through this journey of mine I have come to understand that mental health, trauma, and
manipulation play significant roles in these cases, particularly with young girls. At thirteen or
fourteen, these children are only a few years removed from believing in Santa Claus, the Easter
Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. They are still developing emotionally, psychologically, and
neurologically.
To suggest they possess the same judgment, foresight, and accountability as adults is not only
unrealistic, but also unjust.
This does not mean there should be no accountability. Jamie herself would be the first to say
that. She has accepted responsibility for her role and will live with that reality forever. But
accountability and permanent condemnation are not the same thing.
The justice system should allow room for growth. It should recognize change when it happens.
Jamie and Carly are proof that people are more than the worst thing they have ever done,
especially when that moment occurred in childhood.
For ten years, I have driven past that prison without ever truly thinking about who was inside.
Now, every time I pass, I smirk because I know something so many others don’t, there is a bright
light within those walls, one that, if given the chance, would illuminate the world beyond them.
I find myself speaking to her in those moments, saying “hello sweetheart” as I drive by,
wondering where she is at that moment. When the noon bell rings, I wonder what she might be
doing.
I hate that it took me so long to find her, when she was there all along, just across the street from
me. I believe that a divine intervention from above is what brought these girls to me, or me to
them. Now, and forever more, she is a part of me. And as long as she remains there, a part of my
heart will remain there with her.
Tara Ashby, Advocate for Carly’s Warriors Foundation
