I first watched at least 500 police cruisers roll through the front gates. Most of these men and women never knew Officer Christopher Kane. But, they knew the badge. The sacrifice every officer makes when they become public servents.

Service defines Kane. He was a U.S. Marine before joining the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office 12 years ago. He served his Orange Park church and community, an enthusiastic Pop Warner football coach.

Most police funerals are the same; and often mimic military burials.

The haunting bagpipes give indication something moving is on the horizon. Then, you see it; the flag-draped casket, beared by white-gloved honor guard members.

After a short series of prayers, the ceremony turns back to it's poignent script; a series of well orchestrated exercises reminding the thousand or so in attendance that this goodbye is no ordinary farewell, but a farewell fit for a hero.

There is the eery sound of taps, played as a duet by competing trumpets. Three sheriff's office helicopters fly in formation, then as the trio move over the proceedings, one splits away. A striking "missing man" move.

Then, it happens. A patrol officer goes to his cruiser, turns up the police radio and you hear, for a few minutes, a dispatcher give the final salute. She stoicially reads Officer Kane's badge number, then says "10-82," the police signal for end of duty.

And then the tears start forming and for a few brief seconds, I'm stricken with giref. And I wasn't alone.