Ive learned that people who are going to die have little wishes，” says Kees Veldboer， the ambulance driver who founded the Stichting Ambulance Wens， or Ambulance Wish Foundation.

In November 2006 he was moving a terminally ill patient， Mario Stefanutto， from one hospital to another. But just after they put him on the stretcher， they were told there would be a delay—the receiving hospital wasnt ready. Stefanutto had no desire to get back in the bed where he had spent the past three months， so Veldboer asked if there was anywhere he would like to go.

The retired seaman asked if they could take him to the Vlaardingen canal， so he could be by the water and say a final goodbye to Rotterdam harbour. It was a sunny day， and they stayed on the dockside for nearly an hour. “Tears of joy ran over his face，” says Veldboer. “When I asked him： ‘Would you like to have the opportunity to sail again？ he said it would be impossible because he lay on a stretcher.”

Veldboer was determined to make this mans last wish come true. He asked his boss if he could borrow an ambulance on his day off， recruited the help of a colleague and contacted a firm that does boat tours around Rotterdam harbour—they were all happy to help， and the following Friday， to Stefanuttos astonishment， the ambulance driver turned up at his hospital bedside to take him sailing.

That was the genesis of the Ambulance Wish Foundation. Veldboer and his wife Ineke， a nurse， started it at their kitchen table eight years ago. Now it has 230 volunteers， six ambulances and a holiday home， and is fast approaching 7，000 fulfilled wishes. On average， the charity helps four people a day—they can be any age and the only stipulation is that patients are terminally ill and cant be transported other than on a stretcher.

Although other charities offer terminally ill patients a day out， the Ambulance Wish Foundation was the first to provide an ambulance and full medical back-up. There is always a fully-trained nurse on board， and the specialist drivers tend to come from the police and fire brigades. The specially-designed ambulances have a view， and every patient receives a teddy bear called Mario， named after Stefanutto.

“It gives us volunteers so much satisfaction to see people enjoying themselves，” says Roel Foppen， a former soldier who acts as a driver. Over the past six years he has helped to fulfil 300 wishes.

Once he went as far as Romania， a 4，500km roundtrip. It was for a woman called Nadja， who had lived in the Netherlands for 12 years. Her children， aged three and seven， were already back in Romania with her family， and she wanted to go there to die.

“She was so ill we couldnt even touch her，” says Foppen. They left on a Thursday morning， but as they were driving through Germany Nadjas condition deteriorated， so they stopped at a hospital. Doctors recommended Nadja stay there， but she wanted to see her children—and her wish was what counted. After a three-hour delay they carried on， through Austria， then Hungary—when they reached the Romanian border， Nadja said， “Take the stretcher out， now I can die！”

Foppen said， “Its just another 600km to your mother and your children—could you hang on just a little longer？” On the Saturday the ambulance arrived in Bucharest for an emotional reunion. Then the crew drove back， leaving Nadja behind. Her family sent a card to say she died two weeks later.

“If people know were coming， they find new reserves of energy，” says Foppen. “Often the family tell us they were about to cancel because the patient was so ill， but when we arrive they are beaming， ready for their day out.”

Knot， who works as a district nurse. She first came across the charity when she was invited along by a cancer patient she had grown close to. The experience made Knot so enthusiastic she wrote to Veldboer to offer her services.

“Every time is special. You discuss it with your colleagues on the way home and its always special， no matter how small，” says Knot. “I had one lady who just wanted a glass of advocaat （a thick egg liqueur） at home. So her son bought a bottle， we went to her house， she spooned up the advocaat and we went back. That was her wish.”

“People ask， ‘Isnt it draining？ Isnt it emotional， always dealing with last wishes？ Yes it is， but often people are ready to die because they are so far down the line， and then its nice to give them something they really want，” she says.

Frans Lepelaar is a former policeman who now drives for the charity. After 20 years behind a desk， investigating fraud， he wanted to get back to helping people face-toface.

“It can be a long day—you could be back in the middle of the night. We always ask， ‘Do you want anything more？ Theyre always grateful. Thats what you do it for，” he says.

In 2014， Lepelaar and his colleague Olaf Exoo took Mario， a 54-year-old man with learning difficulties， to say a final goodbye to his colleagues at Rotterdam Zoo， where he had worked for 25 years. At the end of his shift as a maintenance man he used to always visit the animals， and they took him on his rounds one last time.

When they reached the giraffe enclosure they were invited in， and it was then that one of the more curious giraffes came over and gave Mario a lick on the face. He was too ill to speak， but his face lit up， says Exoo， whose photograph of the “giraffes kiss” made headlines.

“Its intense， but thats why its interesting，” says Mirjam Lok， a 25-year-old nurse. “You dont know who youll meet when you walk through the door， and at the end of the day you have fulfilled their last wish， you close the door and you think—that was good.”

Following the huge success of his venture， Veldboer has helped to set up similar ambulance services abroad， first in Israel—after taking a Jewish woman to Jerusalem， where she wanted to die—then in Belgium， Germany and Sweden.

A practical， no-nonsense man， he admits that setting up the foundation has given him confidence. “I used to think I didnt amount to much， but then I discovered my ideas arent that bad after all. Ive learned that if you follow your heart and do things your own way， people will support you.”

“Im just a very ordinary Dutch guy who does what he likes best， and my hobby is helping others.”

我了解到將死之人的心里都有一些小小的心愿。”凯斯·韦德波尔说，他就是那个成立了“救护车许愿基金会”的救护车司机。

2006年11月，他当时正准备把一位重病晚期病人马里奥·斯特法努托转移到另一间医院。但正当他们把病人抬到担架上时，他们被告知转移工作将会延迟——接收医院还没准备好。斯特法努托不想再回到病床上，他之前已经在那里躺了三个月，所以韦德波尔问他有没有什么想去的地方。

这位退休的水手问他们可否带他去符拉尔丁根运河，这样他就能在岸边与鹿特丹海港作最后的道别。那是个阳光明媚的日子，他们在码头边上待了将近一个小时。“欣慰的泪水划过他的脸庞。”韦德波尔说道。“我问他：‘你希望有机会再次航海吗？他说那是不可能的，因为他躺在担架上。”

韦德波尔决心要帮助这个男人实现最后的愿望。于是他问上司，他可否在放假时借用一辆救护车，请来一位同事帮忙，并联系一家提供游览鹿特丹海港服务的游船公司——他们都很乐意提供帮助。所以在接下来的星期五，斯特法努托大吃一惊，因为韦德波尔这位救护车司机出现在他的病床边，说要带他去航海。

这就是“救护车许愿基金会”成立的起源。八年前，韦德波尔和他那位当护士的妻子伊奈可在厨房的餐桌上谈起要建立这个基金会。如今，该基金会已经拥有230名志愿者，六台救护车以及一间假日别墅。此外，该基金会已经帮助病患实现将近7000个愿望。……