It is early in the evening, and in the rainstorm-washed light, five large fingers are in motion. They sprint and skitter over the frets of an unplugged, white-and-camouflage-colored electric guitar, joining with the thumb and forefinger of the other hand to propel the music of Aerosmith, Deep Purple, Boston and the Stones around the hospital room.

The rhythms are high velocity. Foot-stomping stuff. But the man launching the notes and chords isn't likely to ever dance to them again. He isn't likely to ever walk again, either. Not with that bullet jammed into his spine.

The good news is that Tommy Urbanski is still open to the possibilities of his new life, still has plenty of room for hope in his large body and even larger spirit.

But the best news of all is that he's finally going home.

On Saturday, he and his wife will board United Flight 1409 to Las Vegas, the city they moved to nine years ago from New York to build a new life. The city where, six months ago, some "piece of garbage" with a grudge and a gun fired blindly into a tony strip club and came terrifyingly close to making Kathy Urbanski a widow.

Of waves and setbacks

Feb. 19. Almost 5 a.m. The entrance to Minxx, where Urbanski worked as a manager. Gunshots. Four bullets violate his 6-foot-6, 400- pound frame.

March 21. Craig Hospital, the Englewood facility specializing in spinal-cord and brain injuries. He's still in bad shape. Still recovering from a collapsed lung, broken wrists, shattered ribs, paralysis from the navel down. A former pro wrestler pinned to the mat forever. You're lucky to be alive, they told him. He wondered if he was.

Endless rounds of physical therapy. Rolling, shifting, moving. Learning to lift himself up. Move on his own. Building strength in his body while his mind navigated through the fog of painkillers.

Endless waves of occupational therapy. Relearning motor skills. Shaving. Brushing his teeth. Retooling his cooking skills in a specially designed kitchen.

They thought he'd be home by June. Then his kidneys shut down. Then he needed more surgery to remove 10 pounds of excess skin - another burden after he lost 100 pounds of body weight. Then surgery on his hands.

More setbacks. More medical issues. Not unusual in the case of spinal injuries caused by gunshots, the doctors told him. Urbanski understood. Still . . .

Then Kathy had to go back to Vegas for her teaching job. She hated leaving, but they needed the health insurance. Medical bills were deep into six figures already.

Kathy would fly in most weekends to be with Urbanski. They'd go out. The 16th Street Mall. The Downtown Aquarium. Coors Field. Urbanski expanding the boundaries of his mobility. Getting ready.

Swimming through storm

Meanwhile, the police made no arrests. The gunman was linked to a rough group of club patrons led by pro football player Adam "Pacman" Jones. But Jones denied responsibility, denied knowing the guy during an HBO Real Sports show. Urbanski watched the interview more than once. Whenever Jones' face flashed on screen, he had the same reaction: "I see a liar and a sociopath."

What about the guy with the gun? A shrug from Urbanski.

A lot more from Kathy: "The man who shot my husband is an animal and a coward and a piece of garbage."

Summer rolled in. Water therapy. Paradise in a pool. Urbanski always liked to swim. But this wasn't just swimming. In the water he could "move unassisted." In the water he was buoyant.

Thinking of home also made him feel lighter. Thinking of all his friends there.

Thinking he had more friends than he realized. What about those two guys who'd been in his band, T.T. and the Krunch Kats, back in the 1990s? After years of losing touch, they hear about Urbanski in the news. From out of the blue, here comes a brand new electric guitar. Just like that.

Even better than the guitar was knowing his hands were healing enough for him to play it. Music was his real painkiller. Maybe as good as the meds he had to keep swallowing because the pain in his ribs wouldn't go away and the doctors didn't know exactly why.

One thing they did know: Urbanski wasn't going home unless those pressure sores healed.

Fear and excitement

Urbanski is lying in his bed. You bet he's scared of the sores - decubitus ulcers. They reach bone. They can get toxic. Lethal. Paralyzed people have to be careful - they can't feel the sores arriving.

The nurses noticed Urbanski's sores last week. So long, rehab - hello, bed rest. Those sores need to be gone so he can board Flight 1409.

Mired in bed, without Kathy, with all the pain, with the endless adjustments lying in wait. Still, ask Urbanski how he's doing.

"I feel pretty good," he says, head slowly nodding in emphasis.

He admits he's "absolutely scared" and "freakin' excited" about going home. Excited because, well, home is home. Scared because he's leaving the womb of Craig ("Everybody was so great").

He knows that they tell people like him, paraplegics, they must say goodbye to who they were and hello to who they are. But Urbanski's not sure he needs to because, "I'm still me. Maybe I have to say goodbye to some of life as I knew it, but I know that my life is gonna be good. Just more difficult."

His future is open. He's thinking about "speaking out. I want to smarten people up about spinal cord injuries." About being an advocate for stem cell research. About starting a new band.

Got a name in mind?

"Four Bullets Later."

He's smiles. A band. Yeah.

Maybe his legs don't work anymore, but his fingers do. They can still move unassisted across the frets and strings. Can still make music. Can take him to a place where he's forever buoyant.

To help

• For more information on how you can help Tommy Urbanski, go to TommyUrbanskiFund.org.

meadowj@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-2606

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