For Deputy Jacob Pickett, a memorial almost too big to comprehend

At times, a day set aside to remember slain Boone County Sheriff’s Deputy Jacob Pickett seemed almost too big to comprehend.

Hundreds of law enforcement officers from around Indiana and across the country formed such a lengthy queue it took them an hour to file into the Brownsburg church for the funeral.

Beyond law enforcement, hundreds of other mourners — more than 2,000 in all — filled every seat in the church and spilled into overflow facilities for a memorial that lasted more than two hours.

Next, a 14-mile-long procession of law enforcement vehicles drove along a 55-mile route through three counties. Along rural roads, clusters of people stood and waved American flags. In Brownsburg, thousands of students stayed after school on a cold Friday afternoon, standing reverently, some holding signs of gratitude to the deputy. One read: "There is no better hero than you Jacob Pickett."

The suspect:Man accused of killing of Deputy Jacob Pickett asks whether he can seek the death penalty

The shooting:What we know about the shooting of Deputy Jacob Pickett

The extraordinary outpouring, coming exactly one week after Pickett was gunned down by a fleeing suspect in Lebanon, was something of an emotional catharsis for Boone County. Filled with symbolism and shows of patriotism, the event seemed not only a tribute to Pickett but also to the men and women of law enforcement left to fill the gap in the “thin blue line” he left behind.

The symbols were both poignant and heartbreaking.

At the end of a procession of police K-9 units who entered the church, the final dog was Pickett’s partner, Brik, a German shepherd-Belgian Malinois. With his handler now gone, he will be retired from duty.

Along the streets and rural roads, American flags appeared on a chilly March afternoon in numbers greater than Boone County is likely to see on the Fourth of July.

At the elementary school where Pickett’s widow, Jennifer, is a teacher, students erected a white picket fence with the officer’s name on it. They also stuck white cups in a chain-link fence to spell out the message: "WE (HEART) MRS. PICKETT."

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At Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis, where Pickett was laid to rest, a riderless horse, with a backward boot, led the coffin procession to the grave site.

The elaborate ceremonies for the 34-year-old deputy, husband and father of two young children was not unlike those for a fallen political leader. Boone County Sheriff Mike Nielsen, whose agency last buried an officer killed in the line in 1935, has repeatedly likened the work and sacrifice of Pickett and others like him to that of soldiers. He said the ceremonies were a way to honor a “hero.”

“Behind the badge was a warrior,” Nielsen said, “and he put down his life for you, each one of you.”

Pickett was shot March 2 in Lebanon rounding a corner during a foot chase. Officers on the scene, including Sheriff Nielsen, performed CPR, but Pickett’s wounds were fatal. He was sustained long enough to become an organ donor.

Charged with his murder and other counts was 21-year-old Anthony Louis Baumgardt, a previously low-level offender wanted on an outstanding warrant.

Indiana Gov. Eric Holcomb, addressing those at the funeral, spoke in a voice that at times broke. He said Pickett’s death is a reminder evil still exists in the world and law enforcement officers protect us from seeing much of it. To Pickett’s family, he offered the words: “On behalf of a grateful and a heartbroken Indiana, we offer our deepest condolences."

Pickett, his coffin draped with an American flag, was remembered by the Rev. Steve Reeves as someone who was “mindful of others” even as a boy. He remembered how, in high school, Pickett had defended a mentally disabled girl when she was ridiculed by other students. 

“Jake was just kind," said Reeves, who coached Pickett in Little League and baptized him as a teenager. "He had a kindness about him. He wanted to do well." 

That servant’s heart carried over into adulthood, Reeves said. Pickett was characterized by loyalty and humility, selflessness and a willingness to serve others.

Reeves urged members of his audience to live each day as if it were their last and to treat the people they encounter as if it were their last day, too. 

“The definition of a hero is laying down one’s life," Reeves said. "And he laid down his life for us.”

That sentiment was shared beyond the pulpit. 

In Zionsville, where Pickett lived, attorney Roger Burrus put up an American flag outside his law office and an American flag chair by the curb as he awaited the procession. "He gave the ultimate sacrifice,” Burrus said. “This is a big event in the history of our town."

Along Oak Street, American flags, blue ribbons, blue balloons and banners featuring thin blue lines were prominently on display. 

Iva Caldwell bundled up her three kids — Allie, 12; Katie, 10; Bradley, 6 — and brought them out to the procession route in Zionsville. She said they were old enough to understand the impact of a family losing a father. “They just said today, ‘Dad, I don’t know what we’d do without you,'” Iva said.

As much as the day was about remembering Pickett, the role of his canine partner — and the role of other dogs in law enforcement — was also featured in a prominent supporting role.

Pickett headed up the Boone County Sheriff K-9 units. For the past two years, he worked with Brik at his side. The dog was with him on the day he died.

A portrait of the dog and the deputy stood on an easel behind the casket. Looming larger still above the altar was a massive photograph of Pickett inside a police vehicle, his head tilted against Brik, the dog's own head bowed, his paw on the deputy's bicep.

Brik has one more service to perform for Pickett. Nielsen, the sheriff, said the dog would appear at each of the subsequent court hearings involving the suspect in Pickett’s death.

As Pickett’s  coffin was wheeled out of the church, hundreds of officers stood in attention in a courtyard. Soon, that silence was pierced by the barking and yelping canine officers. Along the procession route, many paying tribute brought their dogs with them to the roadside.

Later, when Pickett was given the traditional radio sign off for fallen officers, the silence at the end of the unanswered call was eventually broken, punctuated by the plaintive barks of a dog.

In the end, at Crown Hill, throngs of people who had withstood eight hours of ceremony and processions stood in cold silence. A marathon of grief and gratitude that had begun in the late morning was ending after the fall of darkness. 

The silence was broken by the sounds of bagpipes, first playing "Scotland the Brave" and then "Amazing Grace." And then by the crack of a 21-gun salute.

After a few words from a minister, the color guard lifted the flag from the coffin and folded it. It was handed to the sheriff. And then the widow.

The uniformed officers formed yet one last line, dropping their carnations on the casket.

Amy Bartner, Jenna Watson, Kelly Wilkinson and Robert Scheer contributed to this article. Call Robert King at (317) 444-6089. Follow him on Twitter and Facebook.