Can you really ever go home?

I was talking to my mother over the weekend, which is always a bit stressful for me, but this last conversation was more stressful than usual.
See, my mom has never really been a just sit down and chat kind of girl. She grew up an only child and I never really remember her having a lot of girlfriends so I don't think that she knows how to be a "girlfriend," especially to her daughter. She wants me to call, ask about the weather, chat about her neighbors, and listen as she regales me with stories of death and mayhem from our family in NE Georgia. She thrives on the misery of others and frankly, if I'm not telling her my own stories of woe she really doesn't have the time to listen. Her favorite topic of discussion is of course my father, her ex husband of 30 years, and his various health woes and aggrevations that he is always suffering from.
"How is your father?" She'll ask ever so innocently.
"He's fine."
"Oh, I thought you said he wasn't feeling well..."
"He's fine, mother. He's just tired because he works so much."
"Oh, (insert sigh) Well, I guess he's really loving his new job what with all the money he's making."
"I suppose. I don't really talk to him about work. I just know he works a lot."
"Oh... Well, is Michael still under the weather then?"
Death. Mayhem. Sadness.
And let's not forget the guilt?
"So, when are you and Michael going to be here for Easter?"
"Mother, I have class that weekend. And Michael can't take off work until Spencer's wedding... we won't be in Knoxville for Easter."
"Oh... I thought you would come home for Easter. How will I get your basket to you if you don't come home?"
"I'm 46 days from being 30 years old. I don't need an Easter Basket."
"Oh... (insert sigh) you'll always be my little baby... I guess I'll just have to mail it to you."
And this is the point where I do turn into a baby. My mother still has the ability to turn me into a kicking, screaming, tantrum throwing three-year-old, which is why, as I asked earlier, Can you really ever go home again?
I don't know. I miss my mom, I miss Knoxville, I miss the normalcy, but do I really miss all the ties (nooses...) that come with it? Is the distance really a hidden gift? Because I do appreciate her more now, and now I have the wonderful ability to hang up the phone and suffer my guilt in peace and know that no matter how much I want to drive over and kill her that I can't, that's not an option. I have to muggle through it and hope that the next conversation will yield happier results.