Please don't take seriously the idea of a death in the family. I think that started back in the days when a death in a family was not at all uncommon, because "family" meant parent, grandparent, great-grandparent, and aunts and uncles and so on. The word had a bigger meaning, and therefore the odds were in favor of the persistence of such a "superstition" by shear weight of common coincidence. It is a fact, after all, that the more you include old people in your family, the more you will know of the Angel of Death. Science fiction has contemplated the consequences of it being otherwise. They are inevitably horrors. Let's not go there.
I'm 59 years old; we get to thinking about the definition of family in as broad a term as we can, when we get older. And I never managed to cope with the prerequisite, so I am not a grandmother. But I seem to be Auntie to a great many people, and that is very blessed.
But it is true that the egg was one which, had it been fertilized would have hatched out two puny, premature chicks when the shell, which is, after all graded and sold for size, became too small for the development of the chicks. The shell is, of course rigid, and cannot get any larger. Ain't room in there for two healthy chicks. Don't worry; you're not a ghoul. The egg was, after all unfertilized.
But you needn't concern yourself for what might have been; you did the chicken farmer a favor in getting rid of his excess (because any unfertilized egg is, by natural definition, excess) production and got yourself some extra protein. And more to dip toast into, of course.
For symbolic value, such an egg is therefore fortunate, not unfortunate. It is not about death, it is about life. Your life, for being well-nourished and healthy and able to live along and productive life. Enjoy it, too!