For most of Urbina's career, he has kept his contact with the media at a limit, and his private life private. It was especially true while his mother was a hostage, when one bad statement could get somebody killed. On Wednesday, Urbina laid out his personal nightmare for those who wanted to listen, and tried as best he could to convey the emotions that had enveloped him for nearly half a year.

Three words from him summed it up: "You can't imagine."

None of the five months, 18 days defied description like last Friday, when Maura Villareal was freed in a police raid on the isolated resort where she was being held in the mountains of the southern end of the country. Urbina hadn't heard from those holding her since mid-December. Contrary to reports of hostage videos and ransom notes, the only way he knew she was alive was by asking personal questions only she would know during the six times the kidnappers called.

"It's easy in Venezuela to get cellular phone numbers," he said of their December call. "They called me one day and said, 'We're the people that have the package.' I say, 'What package? I don't have any package.' They said, 'We're the people that have your mom.' I talked to them for two minutes and that's it."

He could tell by their talk that they weren't Venezuelan. As he'd discover later, the Venezuelan group that dressed in police uniforms and kidnapped her Sept. 1 had sold her to a Colombian group involved in the drug trade. They never talked to him about a ransom until December.

"They wanted money," he said, "but they thought they'd wait for some point to say it. They talked to my youngest brother two times about money, and they talked to me one time about it. We had the police giving us advice what to do, what not to do. But we lost contact for about two months."

Despite his waning hopes, he was trying his best to put on the appearances of a normal life. He was preparing himself, mentally and physically, to report to Tigers Spring Training not knowing if his mother was alive or dead. As difficult as that would have seemed, he felt like he had to.

Part of the reasoning was financial. If he ended up paying a ransom, he'd need money, though other Venezuelan players were willing to contribute. Beyond being his livelihood, baseball was a diversion. Waiting for a call in the bullpen was a way to take his mind off of the anguish of waiting for a phone call from the police or his brother.

Besides that, however, Urbina saw resuming his career as a psychological step, an act of empowerment and defiance aimed at those who held his mother.

"I tried to let them know, the people who had my mom, I'm not [giving in]," he said. "I tried to live my life the same, because if they saw me go down they can take advantage of me. Baseball helped me a lot in everything. When my father passed away, when this happened, it was something keeping my mind busy doing something else. I don't think about what happened to me at the moment [I'm playing]."

What was actually happening, unbeknownst to him as he watched a local basketball game in Caracas Friday night, was the raid. He'd gone through two false alarms of rescues already, so he had every reason to be skeptical when he found out. Hours later, he'd have the proof by seeing his mother, 50 pounds lighter than she was before she was kidnapped.

"When I first saw my mom, I froze," he said. "When I saw her and the way she looked physically, at the moment it's like, 'Wow.' I hugged my mother and we talked. You think, 'When I see her, I'm going to do this or that.' When you really see her, you're shocked. It's hard, but I'm glad it's finally over."

The healing process is just beginning. She's currently seeing specialists for her physical and mental toll, after which Urbina plans to send her to Europe to get away from the country. After that, she'll probably return home to Venezuela and try to get back to a normal life.

"We're hoping that she forgets about that as soon as she can," he said. "I know it's going to take a long time. 'It's like a movie.' That's the only thing she said."

He won't ask her to leave the country, as dangerous as it has seemingly become. For all the anguish he's been through because of this, he still sees the good in the country by all the support he has received from friends, fellow ballplayers and complete strangers who came up to him and said they were praying for his family.

He'll hire bodyguards now, but he'll be back next offseason.

"I still love my country," he said. "This can happen to anybody."

Urbina, too, is trying to resume his normal life. That's part of the reason he left Miami around 3 a.m. ET Tuesday morning to drive to Lakeland soon after arriving from Venezuela. He also wanted to thank the Tigers for the support they've given him throughout the winter.

Support aside, he arrived to find a team much different than when he left. He hadn't followed most of the events around baseball, but he had followed the Tigers' offseason.

"When they signed [Troy] Percival, it didn't make me mad," he said, "because I know this is a business. What they're doing is they're thinking about the team. They didn't know if I was going to come back or not. So they needed some insurance. I understand what they're doing.

"I've known Percival for a long time. I don't have anything against him. We're friends. This is business. I can be here today, but maybe not tomorrow. You never know. This is baseball."

Baseball is business, all right. But after all he's been through, it isn't life or death.

"This is a game," he said. "That's it."

Jason Beck is a reporter for MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of Major League Baseball or its clubs.