By: Roy Abraham
When a song is suddenly silenced, the world doesn’t stop. But you do—everything shifts. Every breath, every thought, every memory becomes louder in the quiet. For Michael Burns, that silence began the day he lost his mother.
Born and raised in Houston, Texas, Michael Burns’ world has always been shaped by rhythm. First through music, later through numbers, systems, and stories. With a degree in Accounting from the University of Houston and a career that spanned aviation, revenue management, and IT project management, he learned early on how to bring order to chaos. But it was storytelling, first in music, then in writing, that gave voice to what couldn’t be managed: Grief.
A Life Shaped by Rhythm
Born and raised in Houston, Texas, Michael Burns grew up surrounded by a rich musical heritage. It began with music, a love that carved out his earliest sense of self. Later, rhythm appeared in the steady order of numbers and systems. With a degree in Accounting from the University of Houston, Michael carved a path through aviation, revenue management, and IT project management. His career was about bringing structure to complexity, solving problems, and finding patterns in chaos.
But behind every formula, every calculation, there was always a storyteller at work. Music had taught him early on that rhythm was more than notes. It was an expression. And when music wasn’t enough to contain his experiences, words became the natural extension. Writing was not an escape, but a translation—a way to give shape to feelings that could not be reduced to balance sheets or algorithms.
More Than a Memoir
His book, A Song Interrupted: Resuming Life After Loss, written under his pen name, Icey Mike, is not a traditional memoir. It’s more intimate than that. Less a retelling, more a companion. It begins on a day that changed everything. The day the melody of his life, anchored by his mother’s presence, was abruptly paused. What follows is not a straight journey of recovery, but a deeply human evolvement of sorrow, love, confusion, and ultimately, resilience.
Writing from the Quiet
“I never had to choose between writing and the rest of my life,” Michael says. “I only had to make time.” That time came after his mother’s passing, when silence demanded language. In those quiet hours, a book was born that offers neither quick fixes nor tidy answers, but instead, a hand held out in the dark.
The Honest Language of Grief
The pages are filled with the kind of honesty that only grief can teach. He writes of the fog in hospital corridors, the unexpected comfort of a sibling’s voice, and loneliness that appear in ordinary places. He writes about the moment of loss and what happens after, when the calls have stopped, and you’re left to face a world that looks the same but feels entirely different.
A Melody That Lives On
But A Song Interrupted isn’t only about pain. It’s about memory as music. It’s about how love outlives loss. It’s about the strength it takes to keep singing when the person who taught you the words is no longer there. “Healing isn’t about forgetting,” he writes. “It’s about integration.”
Every chapter is a step forward, not away from his mother, but with her. Carrying her wisdom, her voice, her rhythm.
The Hope That Remains
Michael hopes that readers feel less alone. They should feel seen, validated, and comforted. But more than anything, they should walk away with hope.
And he means it. His words don’t just describe grief. They walk alongside it. They don’t ask you to be strong. They simply invite you to be real. To make room for both sorrow and joy. To remember that healing doesn’t erase the past. It expands the heart enough to hold it.
Truth in the Aftermath
Michael Burns didn’t set out to be a grief writer. He set out to tell the truth. About his mother. About himself. About all of us who have ever stood in the silence, unsure how to begin again. And somehow, through the pages of A Song Interrupted, he teaches us that there is music after loss. Different, but beautiful. And real.
Just like him.
